


The Paradox Principle

by Moon_Disc



Series: The Paradox Principle [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: AU, Aftermath of Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Gauda Prime, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-08-24 13:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16641483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Disc/pseuds/Moon_Disc
Summary: Gauda Prime. Blake is dead. Lives hang in the balance.A tragic misunderstanding? Or were the seeds of the disaster sown many years before?A story mingling past and present.





	1. Transition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my Dad. Because heroes never really die.

**“I won’t forget this, Avon.” Vila, Orbit.**

 

**Chapter One**

**Gauda Prime, The Present**

**Vila**

 

I was sure I was awake, but it was a funny sort of awareness.

Everything sounded muffled, as though I had my hands over my ears. Silly really, because I knew they were right by my sides. The feeling had started to come back in my fingers and I could feel them tingling. That was a good sign, I hoped.

There was a sound, growing clearer all the time, a crackling, sizzling noise. Burning electrics. I would have known it anywhere. I had heard it often enough. Smelled it too, a fishy aroma that leads your nose right to the source of the problem. The _Liberator_ had its fair share of mishaps and as for the poor old _Scorpio_... well, there's two ships I would never see again.

_If_ I ever saw again, that was. When I opened my eyes, there was a grey haze before them, lit with random coloured flashes. I blinked and the haze was still there. Except it was moving, and I started to make sense of what I was seeing. Smoke. And then my other senses kicked in. Worse smells, cloying, sickly sweet, nauseating enough to turn the strongest stomach. New sounds as well, a sort of low keening mingled with the groans of people in pain, over and over that just wouldn't stop.

I was fully alert by then, but the why, what or how of what I was doing there escaped me. _Something_ had happened and that smell told me it wasn’t good. My eyes were fixed on the ceiling, smoke-dappled and scorched from the burning. That didn't tell me much. So I turned my head and that's when I saw him. A trooper, lying dead, right beside me. The shock gave me the energy to move. 

That’s when it all came flooding back. I didn’t want to believe it, but I only had to lift my head just a fraction to see the scattered bodies. Soolin, not too far away, Tarrant on the steps, and Dayna where she had fallen before I disarmed Arlen. No one was moving. 

Were they dead? For that matter, was I?

It was the pain in my back that convinced me I was still alive. I remembered something slamming into me from behind. After that, I don't know what happened. There was a lump on my head too – I must have hit it on the floor when I fell and knocked myself unconscious. Probably a good thing too, judging by what I saw around me.

But what had hit me? I reached round, feeling the tattered strips of clothing that hung over the coarser material of the blast vest I had slipped on before we abandoned the base. Beneath my fingers, the fabric felt stiff and I could feel a dent where the shot had impacted. 

I had Avon to thank for that. I have always said that if you’re only going to do one good thing in your life, then looking out for a mate has to be up there at the top. Well, it was in my book. Besides, he owed me. At least, I think he knew he did. You never could tell with Avon.

I looked around for him, but he was not there. I had no idea what happened after I went down, but seeing the others and a group of other bodies by the burning console, I could imagine. Among them, I could just make out a tangle of curls. Blake. But not Avon. He must have got away.

Strangely, I didn't hold it against him. I know I should have done, given how he had treated me in the past. I didn’t even blame him for shooting Blake. Had he betrayed us? Avon certainly thought so. Tarrant was pretty sure too. And Blake, well, he didn’t even try to deny it. Just came out with all that talk of waiting. That Arlen woman had plenty to say for herself though, some nonsense about Blake not knowing the difference. I noticed she didn’t say what side he was working for. 

Well, people change. I never thought Blake would. Who knows, it might have been brainwashing. Yes, that was probably it. If anyone ever asked, that what I would say. Mind control. Who would ever know the truth anyway? It was too late for that. 

I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, and I was relieved to find that my legs were still working. I grasped a railing and hauled myself up. The view was worse. Red splashes on the walls. Blood drips oozing their way from step to step. The room was thick with the sight and stench of death. It made me want to gag.

I was torn. Part of me was saying that I should check on the others. Then there was my instinct, telling me to leave.

I wanted to run, but then I saw him. Avon. He was lying just out of view, in a confusion of black and red, partially concealed by the angle of the console. I don't pretend that I've ever been good with the sight of blood, but at that moment I couldn't think of anything else than going to him. It was silly, I knew, like when you hear that another of your old mates has died and you realise soon you'll be the only one left who remembers. Just then, for all I knew, I was the only one left. And I didn't want to be. 

I couldn't tell how badly Avon had been injured. Here and there his clothes were torn and looked wet, whether it was his blood or from the others, I couldn't tell. The blood on his face was worrying, just a thin line trickling out from the side of his mouth, never a good sign. 

He was so still, it didn't look to me like he was breathing. I had to force myself to reach out to take his hand, trying to ignore the blood dribbling from under his sleeve as I searched for a pulse in his wrist. My fingers were shaking so much I couldn't feel anything, except that he was still warm. Too late, I told myself, he was already gone. I was about to let him go when I had this strange feeling that his fingers were curling against mine.

And suddenly his chest started constricting as he coughed, bringing up a fresh clot of blood, and his nail drove into the flesh of my palm. The coughing stopped and in its place was a strange noise coming from him, a sort of wet, hissing sound that made my skin crawl. His eyes opened. I wasn't sure if he saw me at first, but then he blinked and fixed on me.

“Vila,” he croaked. 

“Yes, Avon. I’m here.”

“You survived.”

“No thanks to you.” That probably wasn't fair. He had just saved my life. “Or thanks to you, I’m not sure which. How did you know?”

There was blood on his teeth as he struggled to speak. “Orac.”

“I’ll find him. I have to get you out of here first.”

The faintest smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Vila, I cannot move. I cannot feel... anything.”

I could have told him he had enough feeling in his hands to register our contact, but I didn't like to contradict him. Besides, there were other things to feel apart from physical pain. 

“You’re not dead yet, Avon. Come on, we can't stay here.”

I tried to stand. I stopped when I feel the twitch of his fingers against mine. 

“If you try to move me, I’ll fall apart,” he murmured. His gaze drifted to the passageway beyond the main computer banks. Heavy thuds heralded the reinforcements coming our way. “Go, Vila, while you still can.”

“If I leave you, Avon, they’ll tear you apart. And probably put you back together so they can tear you apart all over again.”

“I’ll be dead before then.” It hurt more me than I could say to see the effort it took him to find the words and the breath to speak them. “You were the key, Vila. I should have realised. If you are alive, then it was wrong.”

He was rambling. This wasn’t the Avon I knew. And those troopers were getting closer by the minute.

“Vila!” With the last of his strength, he shook my hand free. “Go!”

There was nothing I could do for him. Nothing I could say either. Avon wasn't looking at me any more, so I couldn't tell what he was feeling, if I ever could. I sensed it though, deep within him, like a sort of resignation to his fate. He was hurt, badly, but when did that ever stop us? 

“Hang on, Avon,” I whispered to him. “I won’t go far. I'll come back for you.”

His final words to me sounded like a sigh.

“Then you are more of a fool than I thought.”

That was more like it. That was the Avon I remembered. Arrogant and insulting right from that first day when we were thrown together on the _London_. Who would have guessed how our lives would have changed since the bad old days? Not me, a poor boy from the wrong side of the Delta tracks. I've seen more in these past few years than most folk ever see in a lifetime. Some of it was enough to make your hair turn white, but a lot of it was good too.

And for a while, I thought we were invincible. Until Gan died. Ever since, I had this funny feeling like death was dogging our heels, waiting for one of us to make a mistake. Nearly had me a few times too. But I never thought it would almost come at the hand of someone I thought of as a friend. I never had a chance to ask him why either. Now he was dying, I never would.

I left Avon, not because I wanted to, but because I _had_ to. I squeezed myself between a pillar and a console at the back of the room and listened as the troopers rushed in. Over and over in my mind, I kept thinking, _let him die before they find him_. But he didn't. 

Typical Avon, stubborn to the end. He told me he was feeling nothing, but he was lying.


	2. Revelation

**_“For example, imagine that you are standing on the edge of a cliff–”_ **  
**_“As long as you’re not standing behind me.”_ **  
**Avon & Blake, _Redemption_**

 

**Chapter Two**

**The _Liberator_ , The Past**

**Blake**

 

“Avon.”

No reply. No surprise really. Making me wait was one of Avon’s many forms of protest. I tried again.

“Avon.”

Three attempts later, the communicator finally chimed in reply.

“What is it, Blake?”

“Are you busy?”

“Yes.”

No further explanation, the implication being that whatever he was doing carried more weight than anything I was about to suggest. What I had to tell him might change his mind about that. 

“I need you on the Flight Deck.”

A slight pause.

“Can it wait?”

It had already waited long enough. 

“No. There’s something I want you to see.”

He did not reply, which was an answer in itself. A few minutes later, he appeared, resentment at the intrusion barely contained in his dark eyes. For the first time, I caught myself questioning how deep it ran in him. I consider myself a fairly good judge of people, of Avon more than most. Just lately, however, I had been questioning whether that belief was based on anything more than wishful thinking.

“Well, Blake, what is it this time?” he demanded. 

He looked tired. Long shifts and late hours will do that to you. Come to that, I was tired too, but for different reasons.

“Orac has made another prediction.”

“And you thought you needed to share this with me now?”

“Yes, while we’re alone. I didn’t want the others to see.”

Avon eyed me in a manner that suggested he was already bored with the conversation. “Well, now, it wouldn’t be our deaths again, by any chance?”

I stared hard at him. “You knew?”

He took a seat and made himself comfortable. “No, but Orac has a penchant for catastrophe and your eagerness to keep this between ourselves tells me you have concerns about how the others might react to seeing their own deaths at the hands of the Federation.”

Ah, that was telling. Then he didn’t know.

“The fact you have chosen to confide in me,” he continued, “suggests you imagine I am indifferent to the nature of my own demise.”

“Are you?”

Avon slightly inclined his head as a thin smile teased at his lips. “No. But I do intend to avoid it for as long as possible. Well, Blake, what fate has Orac prophesied for us this time?”

“Zen, playback.”

An image appeared of a room filled with smoke and the monotonous sound of an alarm blaring somewhere in the background. On the floor, Vila lay apparently dead. I was dead too, or dying, Orac hadn’t been specific. I had been holding onto Avon, saying his name, before collapsing. Avon was standing there, staring down at me as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, gun hanging limply in his hand. Only when the troopers rushed in to surround him did he look up. Then he stepped over me, raised the gun and smiled. There it ended.

I had seen it too many times to need to watch it again. This time, my attention was on Avon for his reaction. Whatever he was feeling was not betrayed by his face. He was as inscrutable as ever. Or so I thought. Did I imagine the slight tightening around his eyes when he saw me fall, my shirt torn and bloodied? Did the wall come back up when he witnessed what seemed like the inevitability of his own destruction? I wanted – no, _needed_ to know what was going through his head. But as ever, he was not saying.

The screen went blank. Avon continued to stare at it for what felt like the longest time before drawing a deep breath and rising to face me.

“Well?” I asked.

“We look older.”

Given Avon’s penchant for vanity, that he had noticed did not surprise me.

“Is that all?”

“I can see why you did not want the others to know.”

“And now _you_ know.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “What do you want me to say?”

Truth was, I didn’t know myself. It had been over a week since we had escaped the System and Orac’s first prediction had been realised. The next day, when I had been alone, it had shown me this. I had tried applying Avon’s reasoning to the scenario. I had reminded myself of our discussion about the nature of predictions and the ability to enact change. And yet, the doubts were never entirely exorcised. A couple of times over the last few days, one of Avon’s biting remarks had given me pause. Before Orac’s prediction, I might have laughed it off and ignored him. Now it was festering. And like all weeping sores, it had to be treated before the infection spread.

“Is it possible?”

This time, Avon’s eyes did narrow. “That one day we will die? That, Blake, is the one certainty on which we can all depend.”

“I meant, Avon–”

“I _know_ what you meant.”

We were standing close enough for me to catch the soft snort of laughter that escaped him. 

“That thought has occurred to me from time to time when you are in your less appealing moods.” Avon smiled and turned away, hands clasped behind his back. “Thought is not action, however. If it was, Vila would have been ejected from the _Liberator_ long ago. As for this new ‘prediction’, the same principles apply. What additional information have you been given?”

“According to Orac, it takes place on the planet Gauda Prime.”

“Orac told you that?” Avon’s tone was immediately suspicious. “It is more forthcoming than last time. Why, Orac? Does it not violate your own rules on the paradox of prediction?”

“Your possession of this information will not affect the outcome, as your previous experience should have informed you,” came the terse reply.

“Now that is interesting,” Avon said thoughtfully. “Orac considers it important that we are made aware of the location. As for the planet, do you know it, Blake?”

“Vaguely. Wasn’t there something about a suspension of law a few years ago?”

“It was declared an Open Planet. Not surprisingly, it attracted its fair share of criminals.”

“You appear to be well informed.”

A fleeting smile came to his lips. “Gauda Prime was said to be rich in mineral deposits. At the time, there was speculation about the nature of those deposits. As it turned out, they were the kind that required heavy mining equipment and years of investment before anyone saw a profit.” He paused. “Anyone hoping to get rich quickly was disappointed. Speaking for myself, there were other, potentially easier avenues to explore.”

“Like the Federation banking system.”

Avon’s eyebrows twitched, though whether out of amusement or regret I could not say. “As I say, it had potential.”

“Unlike Gauda Prime. All right, Avon, I say we avoid it.”

“That would seem wise, under the circumstances, for both our sakes. And Vila’s.”

It surprised me that he would bother to mention him.

“Yes, well, he does have his uses,” said Avon grudgingly. His gaze had wandered to the control panel before him and he was distracting himself by pressing a succession of buttons. “There is, of course, one sure way to dispel your paranoia for good.”

“I know.” I let the thought hang. “I kill you first.”

“Quite.” He turned abruptly on his heel to face me. “Then what you are waiting for? Come on, Blake, you’ll never have this opportunity again.”

As challenges went, it had shades of the absurd. I sensed Avon knew it too, and to deflect the argument, I folded my arms and put a barrier between us. We were both more comfortable that way.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Perhaps because I don’t believe it. Just because Orac was right once, it doesn’t mean it will be again.”

“There is another consideration.” Avon pulled out Orac’s key. The computer whined into silence. Satisfied, Avon took a seat. “Did it not bother you that the System came for the _Liberator_ so soon after Orac’s prediction?”

I took the seat opposite. “A coincidence.”

“I have never subscribed to the idea of chance. Events occur because people make them happen.”

I let this thought sink in. “So what you’re saying is that Orac had access to information that the System was already in its way?”

“No.” Avon’s gaze was hard and steady. “It was a fair assumption that one day, the original owners of the _Liberator_ would come looking for it. Anyone could have predicted that. Even Vila.”

“Agreed.”

“What no one could predict was when that would happen. We had possession of the _Liberator_ for some time before they did come. We have no information on why they lost it, but lose it they did and were apparently in no hurry to reclaim it. Until Orac came aboard.”

The implication of this was staggering. “You think Orac told them where we were?”

Avon rose again and came to rest beside the computer, his gaze bent on the racing procession of lights within. “Orac is a machine. It craves data. It encounters an alien technology built on a system developed independently yet similar to its own and seeks more information. Providing them with the location of the _Liberator_ was an irresistible bait to lure them in. We were incidental. As were the people on that sister ship. Orac manipulated their weapons to ensure that its predication was accurate, as it told us.”

“Can you prove this?”

“That would require the co-operation of the System and I doubt we shall be hearing from them any time soon.”

“But if you’re right, Avon, then what you’re saying is that Orac could be more of a liability than an asset.”

“Undeniably, Orac is an asset. It gives us an advantage over the Federation. But that comes at a price. What I am suggesting is that a degree of caution is necessary in our dealings with it. We have to be careful that it does not manipulate us in its quest for data.” His tone had become sharp as he turned back to me. “As it has already done so. Whether you acknowledge it or not, Blake, you have been _different_ these last few days. You have not been yourself. It has been noted.”

I had hoped it had not showed.

“Now I know the cause. Orac shows you this scenario and, whether you say you believe it or not, it is affecting your judgement. You see a weapon in my hand and you assume the worst. You did not see me fire.”

That much was true. “I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“People have been convicted on less before now. That is the problem with circumstantial evidence. It can occasionally be very convincing. We have to be careful this does not become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I do not propose to die to satisfy Orac’s curiosity.”

I could not deny the truth of what he said. A few days was all it had taken to make me abandon my preconceptions about Avon. We were not natural allies. I could not envisage a situation where our paths would have crossed under normal circumstances. Acknowledging just how little I knew of the man, I had become watchful and wary. It was only the start. Suspicion would eventually cloud our every waking hour and sour our dreams. Sooner or later, one of us would make a mistake that might cost us our lives. Neither of us could continue to stay on the _Liberator_ under those conditions.

“It has no loyalty to us, Blake,” Avon continued earnestly. “We are specimens under observation, nothing more. Remember that, and we might just stay alive.”

I took a deep breath. “Very well, Avon. We put this behind us and move on.”

“We do not tell the others.”

“What if Orac has given them predictions too?”

Avon considered. “We warn them, then, but keep it in the vaguest terms. And we stay away from Gauda Prime.”

“I have no reason to go there.”

Avon smiled, just enough to show a glimpse of his teeth. “Then we should have no difficulty in avoiding it. Now, is that all?”

 _Yes_ , I heard myself saying. _More than enough._

And, for a while, I believed it.


	3. Bluff

**_“Nervous? I'm not nervous. Just poised for action, that's all.”_**  
**Vila, _Space Fall_**

 

 **Chapter Three**

**Gauda Prime, The Present**

**Vila**

 

“And what you think you’re doing?”

I looked up into the pock-marked face of an imposing man, who towered over me, gun cradled in his hands. I had hoped the troopers would pass me by – little chance of that. The base was swarming with them, and I had my heart in my mouth more than once when some helmeted Federation bully stomped past within inches of my hiding space.

For over an hour I had been in hiding. My luck had finally ran out.

“Out you come,” said the trooper, indicating with his gun. “Let’s have a look at you.”

I hauled myself from the shelter of the computer bank and stood before him. We were the same height, but the helmet he had pushed to the top of his head made him look much taller.

“What’s your name?” he demanded. An older man, with years of weary experience engraved on his weather-beaten features. Probably fresh from a posting on one of the outer worlds, reliant on scraps of information from home, rumour and gossip to keep boredom at bay. There was a good chance he didn't know who I was. Or, if he knew my name, then he might not know my face.

“I’m Vi...” I stumbled over my words. “Vita is my name. Vita Reston.”

“Well, Vita, what were you doing down there, hiding in the corner?”

There was no sign of recognition. He had accepted my name without question. 

“I’m a junior technician. I only came in to refill the food dispensers. I hid when the shooting started.”

The trooper nodded. “Very wise. It was a mess in here.”

“Was it? I’m not very good with that sort of thing. I’ve got a weak stomach.”

He looked me up and down, and I saw that he was dismissing me as a threat to the ordered running of the base. I kept my face to him. It would have taken some explaining if he had seen my back.

“Well, then, you’d better go about your business,” he said. I tried to look round him, but his bulk obscured the view. “No, you’re all right. There’s nothing nasty to see now.”

“Oh, isn’t there? I’m glad.”

He stepped aside and I saw he was right. They had been thorough. The bodies were gone and a squat black drone was skittering about the floor, lapping up the bloodstains like a starving Rangdosian wart-hound. Several technicians were busy dismantling the computers and leaving with burned out components. It hadn't taken long to remove any trace of what had happened in this place.

“Dead, were they?” I asked.

“What’s it to you?” the trooper growled.

“Just interested,” I said quickly. “I’ve never been in a gunfight before. They’ll ask me what happened when I get back downstairs. We don’t get often excitement like this around here.”

He looked at me with distaste. Dealing with the morbid curiosity of civilians was not something he had to deal with much in the past. “Some of our men are dead, yes. Plus a couple of others who work here. You might have known them.”

I shook my head quickly. “No, we juniors don’t get to mix with the senior staff. We’re lucky if they know we’re here half the time.”

The trooper nodded sympathetically. “Hmm, I know that feeling. Take us, for example. We had orders to take the prisoners alive–”

That had sounded promising. “Oh, you’ve got prisoners, have you?”

“You want to let me finish?” he said tersely.

I muttered an apology. Best never to argue with a man with a weapon.

“We got issued these new carbines: lethal or stun settings.” He offered it up for my inspection. I feigned polite interest. At least he had the decency to turn the barrel away from me. “The latest model, with an in-built neural disruptor. State of the art.”

“Nice. Hurts, does it?”

“Drops your target in their tracks. Neat, no mess. Causes lasting damage too, so they tell me. One of my commanders was responsible for testing out the prototypes on the inmates of an old penal colony. He told me half of them were never right again. Yes, it’s a thing of beauty.”

He said it with the sort of pride parents usually reserve for enterprising offspring. I seem to remember my father had the same look on his face the day I picked my first lock. That he followed it up with a clip round the ear for helping myself to the contents of his drinks cabinet never quite dulled that particular memory.

“Thing was, the prisoners got a few shots off first,” he continued. “And there’s our men supposed to hold their fire? Now I’m not saying that a few of them switched off the stun, especially for the last one, but in the heat of battle, accidents happen.”

“Oh. Killed that one, did you?”

“No. He was still alive when we got here. Well, barely,” he added as an afterthought. “We handed him over to the medics.” He chuckled. “We weren’t too careful about how we got him there, if you know what I mean.”

I did. I had heard it happening.

“Still, our men did what they were told, and in my book, alive can mean not quite dead, if you see what I mean.”

“I suppose so. Er, how did you survive?”

The trooper shrugged. “Wasn’t here, was I? On a break with the rest of the squad. We heard the commotion and came running. Too late by then. Speaking of which,” he said, looking pointedly at me, “don’t you have any work to do? Our orders were that this place has to be spotless ready for the handover when this Federation Commissioner gets here.”

This was news to me. Told to put their house in order, that’s what Orac had said about Gauda Prime, and an application made in the last thirty days. They must have done better than anyone gave them credit for if a high-ranking member of the Federation was already on their way.

“Someone important, is it?”

“Someone called Sleer, so they tell me.”

And that was bad news. If Servalan was coming, then she was bringing her Pacification Programme with her.

“I hear she’s got a crack team of interrogators with her to deal with the prisoners,” the trooper continued confidentially. “You’ll stay out of their way, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Oh, I will, I will.”

The trooper was unaware of the effect he was having on me, which was probably a good thing. Having to explain why I was soaked in a cold sweat might have roused his suspicions. I needed him to stop talking so I could get away, but he wouldn’t and I had a funny feeling that I hadn't heard the worst of it.

“There’s one in particular, strange sort of name. He’s got a bone to pick with these prisoners. Word is, they kidnapped him and stranded him in a cave, but left him with a weapon and a couple of generators. Stupid, leaving a man like that with the means of escaping. I’ve got no time for the Interrogation Division, but I'll give the man his credit. That’s how the authorities found him so quickly, on the account of the size of the explosion he caused. And you don't emerge from something like that unscathed, if you get my meaning.” The trooper frowned. “Now, what was his name?”

I knew it. I couldn't stop myself.

“It wouldn’t be Shrinker by any chance?”

“That’s the one.” His expression suddenly became wary. “How do you know that?”

“We hear things, even here on G-P,” I said. I saw from his face that my explanation hadn't entirely satisfied him and I realised I had overplayed my hand. Stupid, like he said, just like leaving those generators for the lights behind in that cave. Still, we all make mistakes. “I really should go. I’ve still got the dispensers on the lower levels to fill. And you know how those Beta Grade Technicians grumble if they don’t get their meals on time.”

I backed away from him, down the steps. He was watching me and with every step I took, he started to advance towards me. In my hurry, I wasn't looking where I was going and the next thing I knew, my foot had come up against the cleaning drone and I fell over backwards. I hit my head again, but luckily for me, this time I didn't pass out. I must have been getting used to it.

The trooper must have seen the mess the blast made of my clothes as I tumbled across the floor because he was more suspicious than ever. 

“What happened to your back?” he wanted to know. He had the gun levelled at me. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Vita,” I said. “Help me up.”

“Get up yourself.”

“Oh, now wait a minute, it’s not what you think,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “I tore my uniform when I hid in the corner. I’m harmless.”

They say one good lie is worth a thousand truths. It was enough to make him doubt. In that moment of indecision, he let the gun drop by his side. I grabbed it, turned it on him and fired. He was right about the stun setting. Dropped him straight down in his tracks without so much as a whimper.

Good thing we were alone, because I needed some new clothes. 

Then I had to find the others before Servalan did.


	4. Plague

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This occurs between 'Weapon' and 'Horizon'.

**_“Death is something that he and I faced together on a number of occasions.”_ **  
**Avon, _Terminal_**

 

**Chapter Four**

**The _Liberator_ , The Past**

**Avon**

 

It was the sight of Vila’s gloves that ignited the argument. Or, rather, what was left of them.

Beneath the scraps of remaining fabric, the skin was blistered and bleeding, in places the flesh scorched down the bone. His hands had taken the full force of the explosion when the fuses had failed to interrupt the current as he had anticipated. A simple lock, he had said. A matter of minutes to overload the circuits. Instead, it had blown up in his face.

Anywhere else, I would not have given much for his chances. The _Liberator_ , being well-equipped to deal with the worst of injuries, meant permanent damage would be negligible. Vila would be functional again in thirty hours.

Whether he would live beyond that was another problem. Specifically, it was now our shared problem. Given the choice between leaving Vila to die or condemning us all to death, Blake had chosen the latter. Now we were all damned.

That’s what happens when you go looking for trouble. Castorgorex was certainly the place to find it.

‘Planet of the Dead’, as it was popularly known to the masses, Castorgorex in the Fifth Sector had a dubious reputation. Vila appointed himself the expert, naturally. Following much talk about legends and curses, he had admitted he was only repeating what he had heard from other people less well informed than himself. We sought our facts from more trusted sources after that.

According to Orac, the planet had been settled one hundred and fifty years ago by Delta Grades, shipped out from Earth with the promise of a new life. For a while, the settlers had been responsible for supplying food resources to half of the known worlds. Then it was discovered that the planet was plentiful in dolorosium, a supposedly inert element that was found to produce new chemical species when exposed to radiation. The Federation’s overtures concerning extraction were met with resistance. Then, at about the same time, the people of Castorgorex began to die.

The timing was convenient, a coincidence even, if you believe in such things.

Faced with a planet-wide epidemic, the ruling body of Castorgorex had appealed to the Federation for help. The cause was soon discovered. An airborne prion disease, causing neurological dysfunction, mental deterioration and lingering death. There was no cure. The Federation expressed their regret and promptly threw up a quarantine blockade around the planet. Nothing in, nothing out. The people of Castorgorex were left to die.

The last official report Orac could find came from three years after the initial infection. The last Federation survey team sent to the planet were unable to detect any human life signs. Five million people dead. After that, Castorgorex disappeared from official records. The quarantine restrictions remained. No one visited. Or so they said.

Inevitably, the rumours started. The one Blake had heard was that the planet had been transformed from verdant paradise into a scarred wasteland, perpetually shrouded in the tenebrous fog from dolorosium refineries. These in turn provided the energy powering the Federation’s weapons and warships.

If that information were true, it would make Castorgorex a desirable target.

Scans of the planet confirmed that several large-scale automated processing plants had been established, whilst drones carved up the land in search of dolorosium. No workers, no weapons, no defence shield – unless you counted the threat of infection. Prion diseases, misfolded proteins rather than the usual viruses or bacteria the Federation preferred to employ, could not be eradicated by conventional means. You cannot kill that which is not alive, as Orac told us.

Blake was not discouraged and was keen to launch a pre-emptive strike. His plan was simple enough. Disrupt production with some strategically placed explosive devices. Computer malfunction resulting in planet-wide extraction failure. Cripple the Federation’s ability to power its fleet and half the civilised worlds would be in revolt before Space Command could retaliate.

I had no objection in principle. One less battle cruiser to test the _Liberator's_ defences was always a good idea. In practice, teleporting down to a toxic planet was not high on my list of priorities.

Vila had the same concerns. We were both overruled.

I left it to Vila to insist on the decontamination suits. Blake had seemed unconcerned. It was an obvious precaution, despite Zen’s assurance that the scans had revealed the areas used by maintenance technicians had functioning air treatment facilities to remove contaminated dust from the environment. As a further measure, we would make use of the base’s decontamination suite before we left. The others were keen that we took no chances.

Events did not go according to plan. We were five doors in before the lock exploded. Vila was thrown back against the wall, his face and sight saved only by his smoke-blackened mask, and rendered unconscious. At the same time, an alarm began to wail and the low hum of the extraction fans shuddered into silence. Getting back to the _Liberator_ was vital for all of us, but even I had not anticipated that Blake would call for immediate teleport.

We were not a welcome sight. When Blake had pulled off his hood and respirator and called for water, Cally and Gan had hesitated. All the while, Vila’s gloves continued to smoulder. I kept my hood in place and continued to bear his weight. Removing my decontamination suit would not have helped either of us.

Only when Blake shouted again did Gan grab a flask and douse Vila’s hands. The shock of it made him wake and cry out. Pained and fearful, Vila panicked and scrabbled at me for support with his bleeding fingers. My suit peeled off as he tore at the fabric, his nails raking down my hands as he slumped down to the floor again insensible. 

With it went any slim advantage I had trusted the suit still afforded me. Typical of Vila, bringing us all down to his own level.

Well, the damage was done.

Gan ripped off Vila’s suit, scooped him up and hurried away with him to the surgical unit. I had to stop Blake following and get him to remove his own clothes. Too little, too late, perhaps. I destroyed all three garments and sent the ashes back to Castorgorex. Then I joined the discussion on the Flight Deck.

“Blake, how bad it is?”

It was Jenna who was asking the question, although we were all thinking the same.

“We don’t know yet,” he had answered. That was honest. Perhaps too honest.

Things had deteriorated from there. I stood aside, setting Zen to work on a full scan of the ship, and let the argument roll around me. It ended with Jenna leaving, followed by Gan, who headed back to the surgical unit to help Cally. It was a strangely satisfying conclusion to an unsatisfactory situation. And then we were alone.

“Well, nothing to add?” Blake said to me.

He was riled from the confrontation, but not from the circumstances that had caused it. It confirmed a suspicion I had been harbouring.

“Vila is not the only one who did not emerge unscathed.”

I showed him the deep scratches on the back of my hands.

“Not too bad,” he said dismissively.

“You miss the point. If Vila is infected, then so am I. Allowing time for incubation, our deaths should occur within two hundred hours. _If_ we are lucky,” I added. 

“Shouldn’t you be in quarantine?”

“If the prion disease is aboard the _Liberator_ , it is already too late for the others.”

“Possibly. We would have to get Zen to confirm that.”

“I am running a scan. If we are infected, the only question is, do we die and give the Federation back their ‘plague’ when they come to take the _Liberator_ or launch an attack on their headquarters and take Space Command with us?”

Blake looked pensive. He did not need to give it so much thought. I knew what he was about to say.

“You’re thinking too far ahead, Avon,” he said eventually. “I think you’ll be all right.”

He turned to go.

“You think? Or you know? There’s a difference.”

He kept walking, so I tried again.

“There are two typical responses to bad news, Blake: withdrawal or recklessness. It is evident to me which you have chosen.”

It stopped him in his tracks. “If you have something to say, Avon–”

“Oh, I do. Working with the Terra Nostra, an attempted assault on the Federation Weapons Development Base – stop trying to get us killed to prove a point. If you haven’t already.”

He stared at me for what felt like the longest time before shaking his head. “We were in no danger.”

“Tell that to Vila.”

“He made a mistake.”

“Not where his own safety is concerned. It was a trap, Blake.”

“Impossible. They didn’t know we were coming.”

“A trap for _anyone_ ,” I clarified. “Anyone foolish enough to go down to a quarantined planet, that is.”

He rounded on me. “All right, it was a calculated risk. An opportunity like that, to destroy Space Command’s stranglehold over the Outer Worlds, was worth it.”

“Teleporting to the ship in our decontamination suits was not.”

“The extractors were running,” he countered.

“Not when we left.”

Frustration was getting the better of us. I was losing him.

“Any safety you think Orac’s prediction affords is an illusion, Blake. It is not a guarantee of survival. I do not believe that Orac can predict with any degree of accuracy that far ahead. There are too many variables. Even if it were true, it does not apply to Jenna, Cally or Gan. You may choose to believe you are invincible, but they are not.”

“Why do you think I didn’t take them down to Castorgorex with me?” He smiled at my concerns. “Look, if Orac is right, then the odds are in our favour for the next few years. I say we make the most of them. And if Orac is wrong, it doesn’t matter.”

“It only has to be wrong once.”

Further discussion on the subject was interrupted by the chime of the communicator. 

“Blake?” came Cally’s voice. “I’ve run the scans on Vila. He is not infected.”

Blake paused to read Zen’s completed scan. He almost looked smug at the confirmation that the ship was clear of the prion disease. 

“Have some confidence, Avon,” said he, patting my shoulder as he passed. “We’re a long way from Gauda Prime.”

I left it at that. There is no argument against the irrational. It did cross my mind that Blake was using the prediction as a means of pursuing his own agenda beyond the limits of reasonable caution. It seemed too simplistic though, even for Blake. Whatever his thinking, if there was one certainty, it was that, sooner or later, someone was going to die. This time, it had almost been Vila. The next... well, as long as it wasn’t me, Blake could do what he liked.

The sensible course of action would have been to leave. But bolt holes were in short supply, if they had ever existed at all. 

Things had changed too since those early days. 

Because I was no longer prepared to leave empty-handed.


	5. Reunion

****  
_“I'm as good as you are. Better probably.”_  
  
**Vila, _Voice from the Past_**

 

**Chapter Five**

**Gauda Prime, The Present**

**Vila**

 

One of the first lessons I learned in life – and learned the hard way too – was that the unobtrusive you are, the better. Certain people get overlooked in life. Servants, workers, menials, an unremarkable face in a crowd of many. The lower down the ladder you are, the less those who think they’re better than you take notice. Being disregarded is a way of life down in the Delta Grades. 

That can work to your advantage if you’re in a particular profession. Thieving, for example. Rule number one is that you never draw attention to yourself.

Running around with Blake changed all that. I’ve been never more exposed than in these past few years. There’s something to be said for notoriety, but not in my business. I can’t say it would have made my parents proud to know that I’d broken with family tradition.

Returning to anonymity then came as something of a relief. My stolen Federation uniform was ill-fitting and scratchy. It rode up at the back and caught at the front. Minor inconveniences you might say. At least no one was looking at me. In a sea of troopers, I was just one of many.

It worked for me. I hurried along undetected. As usual, I seemed to be running against the tide. While everyone else was going in the opposite direction, I was heading into areas which were rapidly emptying of personnel. Only once was I stopped. A high ranking officer had put his hand on my chest to stop me. _Make sure they’re dead_ , he told me. _We’re taking no prisoners now._

I soon found out what he meant. I nearly fell over the first one as I rounded the corner. Bloodied bodies lined the corridor. Civilians, by the look of them, dressed in the same white tunics as the man who Arlen had shot. More rebels? If so, the base was being purged prior to the Federation’s takeover. Any potential troublemakers, all in one convenient location. I didn’t like to think it, but Blake had made it easy for them.

With it came another unwelcome thought. I pushed it aside. _No, not willingly_ , I told myself. Blake had lost too much to the Federation to ever find himself on their side. But manipulated, deluded, brainwashed until he didn’t know himself anymore? Well, that could happen. I had seen it happen, once too, during that business with Governor Le Grand. Blake could be very convincing when he wanted to be. Like telling me Avon and Cally had paired up.

I didn’t like to think it was me he had singled out because he thought I was gullible enough to believe it. Trouble was, I did and I had. I don’t think Avon had ever quite forgiven me. Cally did, but then she was nice like that. Much good it did her.

I kept going, not knowing where I was heading. The further I went, the fewer troopers I saw until I was alone. I had been looking for the holding area for prisoners, but somehow I found myself in what I supposed was the medical section. I say supposed, because there were no official signs. What I did see were some blood splatters on the floor, bearing the imprint of passing boots, and a faintly rancid smell in the air, like the time a gripe-mouse had come aboard with us and died in the _Liberator’s_ teleport section. I can still remember that stink. We were smelling it for days after.

The blood trail led to one door in particular. I left it for the moment. The dead would keep. Along the corridor was a door triple-locked. That suggested possibilities. Something worth protecting... or for keeping locked inside while the troopers were occupied elsewhere. 

Opening it was no trouble at all. It was when I entered that my problems started.

My feet had scarcely crossed the threshold than someone grabbed me by the front of my clothes and threw me up against the wall. Next came a stinging blow to my stomach that knocked the breath out of my body. I had a fleeting view of a curly-haired, grey-clad whirlwind before an arm locked around my neck and startled to strangle the life out of me.

“Tarrant, stop!” I gasped. “It’s me, Vila.”

I was promptly released. The helmet was dragged from my face and I blinked up into Tarrant’s startled face.

“Vila?” he said, almost as if he could not believe what he was seeing. “You’re dead.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You’re not looking too good yourself.”

Actually, that was not true. He was looking a lot better than the last time I had seen him. He was upright, for a start. Grey and haggard might have been, but the faint pink lines around his eye and mouth spoke of his wounds having been partially healed. Someone had made a good job of patching Tarrant up, worse luck for me.

It was only when he hauled me to my feet that I realised all was not as well as I thought. His hands were shaking, and face to face, I noticed a slight tremor in his jaw.

“Do you want to tell me how you survived being shot?” he demanded.

“You know me, born lucky.”

Avon had been explicit. _Don’t tell them_. Unless I had a good enough reason, I didn’t see why I should have to tell Tarrant anything.

“And bad luck for the rest of us. I don’t believe you, Vila. I know the damage Federation weapons can do. You should have had a hole in you big enough to see through.”

He was backing me up into a corner. I was running out of excuses. “New weapons.” I offered up my gun for his inspection. “I was stunned, like you.”

"Is that what happened?" said he, rubbing the back of his neck before turning his attention back to me. "That doesn't explain why your clothes were ripped to shreds. I know what I saw, Vila.”

“Cheap fabric?” I said in desperation.

He grabbed at my collar. I could feel the trembling in his fingers against my skin. “Unless you come up with a good explanation, I’m going to assume you’re working with the Federation and then I’m going to throttle you.”

That was reason enough for me. “A blast vest,” I blurted out. “Dorian invented them. We – me and Avon – found them ages ago. He told me get them before we left the base. There was only one left. The rest were damaged. He told me to put it on.”

“That was generous of him. And not remotely believable.”

He had a point. Whatever way you looked at it, Avon putting anyone’s interests before his own was as unlikely as believing Servalan had a good side. But he had. _Put it on, Vila_ , he had said. _Don’t tell the others._ He had smiled after he had said it. I remembered thinking at the time it hadn’t been that usual smirk of his that boded ill for someone. It had been... well, almost ironic.

“You stole it, didn’t you, Vila? Protecting your own skin, as usual.” Tarrant said. He banged my head up against the wall. My teeth rattled. “The question is how you knew you would need it.”

“I didn’t know,” I protested. “Avon gave it to me, I swear. He didn’t tell me why.”

“He didn’t tell you we were going to Gauda Prime?”

“No! I only found out when the rest of you did. Why would he? He never tells me anything.”

Tarrant abruptly released me. The truth, however unpleasant, tends to convince people, so I’ve found. And it was true. Avon had never been much of a confider. I used to think it was because he discounted me as being unworthy of his intellect. That had made me wary of him initially. People who think they’re superior think nothing of throwing you in the way of danger. Expendable, he had called me once. Stupid too. It was only when I noticed he thought the same about everyone else that I realised it ran deeper.

Losing confidence in people will do that to you.

“Very well,” said Tarrant. “Avon didn’t tell you. It doesn’t explain why he let you have it, if I believe you. If he was expecting trouble, he would have put his own protection before yours. Unless...” 

“Unless what?”

He shook his head and released a long, frustrated breath. “I don’t know. I’ll ask him when I see him.” He backed away. The trembling in his hands was becoming more noticeable. He saw me looking and clasped them together. “Where is Avon?” 

I had to admit I didn’t know. “He was injured, badly. I know they took him somewhere. They wanted us alive. Well, some of us,” I added dejectedly.

“Don’t take it personally, Vila. Put it down to the heat of the moment. You know what these Federation thugs are like.”

“A fine epitaph that would have made.”

“One that might yet come true.” He laid a hand on my shoulder and pushed me towards the door. The vibrations from his fingers rippled up my neck. “Now, are you going to stand there or are you going to get us out? I assume that’s why you’re here.”

“You’re not coming with me?” I said doubtfully.

He gestured to himself. “I’m hardly dressed for the occasion. I’m going to need a uniform. Oh, and Vila, try not to pick anyone too small.”

I had to backtrack a long way before I found anyone suitable. Someone had put up enough of a fight to fell several troopers. I dragged the tallest into a side room, stripped him and hurried back to Tarrant.

I waited while he changing, keeping a watch on the corridor. No one came along, but I did hear faint sounds of activity coming from the room where the blood trail had ended. I had found Tarrant here, someone had tended to his injuries – was it possible that Avon was behind that other door?

As soon as Tarrant was dressed, we went to find out.

He was first through the door, of course. Not that I minded. Rather him than me if I had misjudged and inside was a room full of disgruntled troopers. 

As it turned out, I had been right. It was a sparse chamber, unnaturally cold, furnished with all the but the bare essentials, and pressed into service as a temporary mortuary. The bodies had been stacked in the corner, from where a tangle of arms and boots projected from under a stained grey sheet. I tried not to wonder if Blake was among them. Several flat boards projected from the walls, each with a body covered in tattered silver sheets, save for the one nearest to us. One hand was encased from knuckles to elbow in a rigid casing and the face was half-covered by a respirator mask, but I would have known that hair anywhere. It was a mess. He wasn’t going to be happy about that.

Avon.

Alive. Barely though, given the weak bleeping of the monitors resting on his chest.

I would have gone to investigate but for the sudden intervention of a tall grey-haired woman in a long white coat who put herself between us and him.

“I told you before you can’t take him yet,” said the woman, barring our way. Her defiance was a mask. Her eyes betrayed her fear. “If you harm me, he will die.”

“A silly thing to say to a man with a gun,” said Tarrant. “Who are you?”

“Dr Velz,” she said. “You have no jurisdiction here, trooper. I answer to Space General Tarnon. He guaranteed my safety.”

“Did he now?” 

Tarrant glanced in my direction. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could guess what he was thinking. Velz was Federation. Ordinarily, we wouldn’t have hesitated. But if what she said about Avon was true, killing her might be his death sentence as well.

“Our orders have changed,” said Tarrant finally. “He’s coming with us now.”

“You can’t move him. He’ll die.”

“If we leave him, it’s a certainty,” said Tarrant. “How bad is he?”

“Critical. Shot through the lung, broken ribs, broken clavicle, a broken hand and wrist, blood loss and other injuries. I’ve done the best I can. I’ve stopped the bleeding and sealed the wounds. But he needs a minimum of seventy hours in a life support capsule.”

“Then why isn’t he in one, Doctor?”

Velz gave him an impatient glance. “Because as I explained to your commander, we don’t have one here at the base. Advanced medical facilities can only be found in private hands on Gauda Prime, where the owners can afford them. Treating bounty hunters and criminals comes very low on anyone’s priorities. I have had to do what I can with limited resources, with him and the other one.”

“And the Federation appreciates what you have done,” said Tarrant. There was something testing about his tone of voice.

“The Federation can go to hell!” said Velz with vehemence. She squared her shoulders and stuck out her jaw. “If you’ve come to kill me, get it over with.”

“Why should we do that?” I interjected.

She cast a look of disgust in my direction. “I’m one of Blake’s people, aren’t I? Isn’t that what your commander called me?”

I don’t know why, but there was something about this woman that rang true. Before Tarrant could stop me, I had pulled off my helmet.

“I’m one of Blake’s people too,” I said earnestly. “At least I used to be. The name’s Vila.”

She stared at me, uncomprehending at first as she attempted and then succeeded in grasping at a vague memory. “The thief? Yes, I remember. He used to speak about you.” Her gaze wandered to Tarrant. “So this is...?”

“Tarrant,” I said, gesturing to him to remove his helmet. He did so, grudgingly.

“You were injured,” said she, a look of relief washing over her face. “I did what I could for you.” Her gaze wandered to his hands with their constant tremble. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do about that. I don’t have the necessary diagnostic tools. It’s probably an after-effect of the stun. It might wear off in its own time.”

Her manner did not inspire confidence.

“Or it might not,” said Tarrant.

“Without further investigation, it’s impossible to say.” Her eyes narrowed. “Tarrant,” she said slowly, as if savouring the word. “I don’t remember your name. Were you with Blake too? They said you were, but he never mentioned you.”

Tarrant’s expression suggested he was undecided. Given recent events, I couldn’t blame him.

“Yes,” I said quickly. “And that’s Avon.”

“Avon, yes,” said Velz, nodding. “I thought it must be. Blake said he trusted him.”

“Well, we all make that mistake,” Tarrant retorted. Velz stared him, not understanding. “We do have to get him out of here, Doctor.”

“I was not lying to you,” said she. “Without proper care, he will not survive.”

Tarrant glanced across at me. I saw his expression.

“Oh, now, wait a minute, we aren’t leaving him,” I protested.

“I’m open to suggestions,” said he.

“Ser – Sleer is on her way, and she’s bringing Shrinker with her. If they find Avon–”

“That’s his problem.”

“No, it’s ours.”

I don’t know what I was thinking. I suddenly found myself levelling my gun at him. Instinctual, I guess. I couldn’t say who was more surprised. Tarrant was faster to recover. He laughed in my face.

“Put it it away, Vila. You’re not the first person to threaten me today.”

“But I might be the last.”

“Wait,” said Velz. “There may be a way to get him off the base. But you have to take me with you.”

Tarrant gave her a sideways glance. I noticed he did not entirely disregard me. Having a gun pointed at you tends to command that sort of grudging respect.

“What do you propose, Doctor?”

Velz left us and approached the bed next to Avon. She drew back the cover to reveal the waxy face of a dark-haired man in his late forties.

“Space Major Gamel. He died just before you came in. Keeping him alive was the only reason Tarnon let me live. I haven’t registered the death yet.”

Tarrant was quick to understand. “You’re saying you could pass Avon off as Gamel.”

Velz nodded hurriedly. “An officer requiring off-planet treatment would grant us access to the hangars. There’s several old transporters used by the mining companies that might be spaceworthy.”

“Don’t mind me asking, Doctor, but if you know this, why haven’t you put this plan into action before now?”

“I’m not a pilot,” said she defensively. “I came to Gauda Prime as Decimus Ogier’s private physician. You do know who he was?”

“Director of one of the mining corporations, no doubt.”

“The biggest and at one time, the most influential. Power changes hands rapidly here. He was toppled two months ago. His staff were purged with him. I escaped. Blake found me and brought me here. If you want your friend to live, you’ll have to take me with you.”

“Friend is not the word I would have used,” said Tarrant. “But I take your point. Very well, Doctor, take ‘our friend’ to the main hangar. We’ll meet you there as an official escort. If you don't make it in time, we will be leaving without you.”

“I’ll be there,” she said, as she hurriedly began to rearrange the network of tubes that ran beneath Avon’s blanket.

“Vila,” said Tarrant, “do you know what happened to Orac?”

“Avon hid him somewhere. I’m sure I can find him.”

“Did he have the key on him? Doctor, was it with his clothes?”

She turned a puzzled expression on us. “There was nothing on him. His clothes are over there if you want to check.”

“Then you’ll have to find it, Vila,” said Tarrant. “I’m going to locate Dayna and Soolin.”

With that, he pulled his helmet back over his face and ran out.

“Er, what if they know what this Gamel looks like?” I asked the doctor.

“A regeneration mask should conceal his face,” said Velz.

“I thought you said you didn’t have much in the way of equipment.”

She gave an ironic laugh. “I didn’t say it was working. Still, the troopers won’t know that. It should be enough to deter their interest. Especially with the universal kill order now in effect.”

I gave her a sharp look. “What ‘kill order’?”

“You didn’t know?” She looked up from her work. “The order came in twenty time units ago. I never expected Tarnon to keep his word. When you entered just now, I thought that’s why you were here, to kill me and Avon."

My heart was in my mouth as I thought of Dayna and Soolin. I only hoped Tarrant would find them in time. And I still had to find Orac. The thought of going back out there on my own suddenly seemed less than appealing.


	6. Restless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after 'Voice From The Past'.

**_“We have to win. It's the only way I can be sure that I was right.”_ **  
**Blake, _Star One_**

 

**Chapter Six**

**Asteroid Mistril 7622, The Past**

**Blake**

 

“Well, what do you want first, young man, the good or the bad news?”

Professor Forrid, a hunched elderly man with a few strands of grey hair clinging to his balding pate and sore red eyes behind antique spectacles, looked up from his diagnostic analyser and regarded me gravely.

“Come on, come on, there are other people waiting,” said he impatiently when I hesitated. “What’s it to be?”

Sitting there, in a makeshift surgery, surrounded by computers running on yesterday’s programmes and instruments scavenged from the waste of other civilisations, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the good news, whatever it was, was never going to be enough to counter the bad. Telling myself the thought was irrational, that surroundings, no matter how dismal, would have no impact on the diagnosis didn’t seem to matter. From the moment I had entered this place, I had been expecting the worst. 

Doubt is pernicious like that. Then again, I had good reason to be concerned.

I won’t pretend the events that had led us to P-K118 hadn’t shaken me. I had no memory of what had happened, aside from what I had been told and read in the records of the incident. That it _had_ happened was undeniable. I had been controlled at a distance, whistled up like a five-credit flyer and commanded to undertake a priority mission without ever been aware of how or why I was doing so. 

It was unsettling, to say the least. The intention had been worthy, the method less so. Predictably, the atmosphere on the _Liberator_ afterwards had been tense. 

I did not need Avon to tell me – although he had – this was an issue that needed addressing. I had completed the dual therapy and closed off that particular avenue of potential control. The question remained, however: what else had they left inside my head? If I could be influenced once, then it could happen again. The next time, as Avon had said, the transmitted instruction could be to kill. 

He had been looking at Vila when he had said it. Vila had reacted in his usual way without ever knowing the reason. We did not enlighten him. We had agreed we never would.

For me, there was another concern. A moment of vulnerability has the ability to shatter your illusions. It had taken a stray thought to start the doubt, the issue of my own free will. I never questioned my commitment to the cause of freedom, but how much of it came from _me_ , if at all? With past memories erased, I had no frame of reference to know whether this was how I would have behaved before the Federation tampered with my mind.

I had times where I asked myself whether any of what I had experienced was real. This random assortment of thieves and murderer with whom I had thrown in my lot, the sheer luck of finding an abandoned space vessel, which happened to be one of the most advanced in the galaxy, our once apparent ability to escape the most dire of situations – a casual observer might have described it as being too good to be true. Records could be forged, people bribed to tell any story – it was enough to make me question whether I had been nothing more than the Federation’s dupe all along, a tool to bolster support amongst the faithful and flush out dissenters.

It had to be considered. Then Gan had died. That had seemed real enough. But in these uncertain times, who could say? If his death had been an illusion, how much better than the reality.

As it happened, our quest for Docholli coincided with a means of resolving my concerns. Amongst the chatter from a thousand worlds on frequencies official and otherwise, Orac had intercepted a reference to a physician on a remote outpost who had saved a man’s life with a complex procedure requiring the skills of a trained surgeon. Cross-referencing the known data came up with the name of Professor Lew Forrid, a man with seemingly impeccable credentials in the field of neuroscience. 

The only problem was that, like us, he appeared to be a fugitive. On the eve of his promotion six years ago, he had vanished, leaving behind a life of privilege, esteem and one of the highest positions on the Federation Medical Council. That he should have ended up on the Asteroid Mistril 7622 in Sector Nine was equally inexplicable. 

If Orac was right, however, it was worth investigating. But it was not without its challenges.

The asteroid itself was remarkable only for having one of the shortest orbital periods in the twelve sectors. With an elliptical orbit of twenty-one standard days around the gas giants of the Ysopa system, Mistril’s retrograde path gave it a velocity comparable to Standard by Eleven. Constantly on the move, it was known colloquially as Restless.

Devoid of minerals or other valuable commodities, it had nothing to interest the Federation. Restless had been utilised by bandits, drifters, fugitives and criminals as a trading post with a relative degree of neutrality. It was the lowest, vilest, most lawless hole in the known worlds, with a reputation so bad that even Vila had blanched at the thought of stopping there. 

For the lost and the dispossessed, it was their last refuge, for some permanently so. Many failed in their attempt to leave the asteroid; the debris field following in its wake told of those who had tried and miscalculated the necessary escape velocity.

That was not a problem for us with the _Liberator’s_ teleport capabilities, but maintaining that speed to follow the asteroid should we need to leave in a hurry meant our time was limited before the energy banks became drained. There was also the attention our presence would attract; I did not flatter myself that the supposed neutrality would mean much compared with the bounty on our heads.

With that in mind, I had teleported down with Jenna. She had spoken of former contacts who might be on Restless, who might have information on the whereabouts of Docholli. We were both armed – no point in taking risks. I left her to find out what she could, whilst I went in search of the elusive surgeon. Orac had been right about his identity, predictably. So I had asked the question and now had my answer.

“The good news,” I said finally.

Forrid sighed with weary resignation. “Well, the memory revision you underwent has, to some limited extent, reversed itself. By your own admission, you remember certain facts from your former life. Family members, for example.”

“Yes. My father’s brother, Ushton, and a cousin on Exbar. I was told my brother and sister are dead.”

“The more you can recall, the better. How much is still lost to you is difficult to assess. The probability is that it will never return. Especially now.”

I glanced at him. “Why?”

Forrid rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That’s the bad news, I’m afraid. The drugs they use in these procedures are more concerned with immediate results than long-term effects.”

“I get the impression the data is not encouraging.”

“There is no data,” said the professor with emphasis. “That’s my point. The sort of people who are subjected to memory revision are usually eliminated before the effects of the drugs become apparent. You would be the first to make it this far. That makes you unique. Regrettably, in this case, that is not in your favour.”

“Tell me.”

“Visual,” he said to the diagnostic computer. An image came up on the screen, highly magnified, showing what I presumed to be a scan of my brain. I saw nothing out of the ordinary until Forrid indicated an area that appeared slightly darker than the rest, as though a shadow had been cast across the screen. “There, a progressive degeneration of the prefrontal cortex. You said you have been having headaches?”

“I put it down to space fatigue.”

“Space fatigue!” Forrid gave a derisive snort. “That’s what they always say when they don’t know any better. In your case, it’s a symptom of the greater problem. Eventually emotion, planning, judgement, all these aspects of your personality will be affected. It will kill you, given time.”

This was not what I had been expecting. Forrid’s bedside manner needed work. 

“How long?” 

He shrugged dismissively. “Five to ten years, difficult to say. Potency of the drugs, timescale: these are variables which need to be taken into account. Here on Restless, I do not have access to that sort of information.”

“We do,” I said, standing. “If you return with me to my ship–”

“Out of the question,” said Forrid irritably. “I cannot leave this place. My safety here is dependant on my availability to all. Preferential treatment would be detrimental to my position. Besides,” he said, easing himself into a dilapidated chair, “what do you want? A guaranteed time of death? No one could tell you that. Five to ten years. It’s the best I do.” A pause. “And for that I am truly sorry, Blake.”

I glanced over at him. My hand instinctively went for the weapon that was no longer at my side. A condition of my visit to the surgery had been to leave all guns outside.

“Oh, yes, I know who you are,” said he. There was nothing in his tone of voice that suggested anything other than assumed familiarity. Considering that he had been probing inside my head for the best part of an hour, I allowed him that. “The arrival of a ship like the _Liberator_ causes quite a stir here on Restless. Then you appeared. We’ve heard about your exploits, even out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“I see. What do you intend to do with that information?”

Forrid pursed his lips. “Nothing. It stopped being any concern of mine when I escaped the clutches of the Federation. These days, I treat people’s injuries and mind my own business. It is how I survive.” He stifled a laugh. “Not much of an existence, you might say, but it suits me. I have food, shelter and a reason to get up in the morning. What more could an old man want?”

Now seemed as good a time as any to ask what I had been wondering since Orac told us of the gaps in the security file about the man. “Do you mind if I ask why you left?”

Forrid’s eyes became vacant, his gaze turning inwards to reflect on past memories. “I was offered promotion. Head of Neuroscience. Very prestigious and all that. I would have been a fool to turn it down. Then information was passed to me about the nature of my new posting. I can’t tell you from whom it came – I supposed it was one of your Freedom Party people. I did some checking and found the information to be correct.”

He rose with a grunt of effort, poured himself a drink and offered the bottle to me. I declined.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Grandeer? No? Well, few people have. Even fewer would want to know of it, I dare say. It’s a medical research facility on the edge of Sector Seven. They specialise in neuroscience,” he said, unnecessarily tapping the side of his head. “Specifically, the treatment of traumatic brain injuries. There was talk of a new drug that had the potential to preserve brain function for an extended time after clinical death.”

He downed his drink and stared at the empty glass.

“That sort of work requires test subjects. Live ones, if you get my meaning. From the information I was given, for a time financial incentives were given to Delta Grades to volunteer. They were told the testing was for a drug to combat Terran influenza. None of them ever returned. Then they implemented a policy of taking Alpha Grade prisoners meant for penal colonies. Healthier, you see. More robust too, so they lasted longer, and with measurable intelligence. From the Federation’s point of view, it was a way of removing troublemakers from the system. People who had the potential to stir up agitation on the penal colonies. People like you, Blake.”

He held my gaze.

“Under ordinary circumstances, you would never have made it to Cygnus Alpha or any other Alpha Grade prisoners with you. You would have ended up on Grandeer. Oh, they would have been pleased to see you, I’m sure, to discover how their drugs had performed.” He gave a snort of distaste. His eyes took on the haunted look of a man who had been stripped of his naivety a long time ago. “The files I was given, details of the worst sort of experiments. Murdering subjects over and over to test the efficacy of their drug. And you ask me why I left.”

His hands were shaking as he poured himself another drink. Somewhere in the distance came the staccato crack of gunfire. Forrid glanced out of the window as an orange glow flared against the black expanse of space.

“You think this place is bad? This is safety, the only safety I’ll ever know. If the Federation ever come here – and one day they will, I don’t doubt it – I won’t be around to see it.” He opened a drawer in the nearest cabinet to show me a concealed weapon. His meaning was obvious. “They won’t take me to Grandeer, not alive, anyway. As for you, good luck, Blake.”

I left him to his drink. Outside, I found Jenna waiting. A small cut on her cheek had dribbled a little blood that she brushed away.

“A disagreement with an old friend,” said she. “Let’s just say, he won’t make the same mistake again.” Her expression clouded. “What did Forrid say?”

In that moment, I had to make a decision. Two classic responses to bad news, Avon had once told me. Well, there was another.

“Nothing, he says I’m fine.”

She looked unconvinced, but did not press it.

“Anything on Docholli?” I asked.

“A rumour.”

“Aren’t they all?”

She returned my smile. “This one may be better than most. A ship called the Barlee heading for Freedom City ran into trouble. Some fatalities, several critically injured. They say it was one of the passengers who saved them.”

“That could be anyone.”

“Anyone with the skills of a cyber-surgeon.”

I glanced back to the closed door of Forrid’s surgery. “There seems to be a lot of them about. Very well, it’s worth following up. Let’s get back to the _Liberator_.”

Cally was waiting for us when we teleported back to the ship. I forestalled her questions by heading straight to the Flight Deck. There would be time for discussion when we were underway.

“Anything happen while we were gone?” I asked once Zen had confirmed the new course heading.

“We had some unwelcome interest,” said Avon. “Several offers to purchase the _Liberator_ , and one potential buyer who was particularly persistent. He was intent on a hostile takeover.” He smiled. “We dissuaded him.”

“I did, you mean,” Vila protested. “I don’t call standing over there shouting ‘Fire’ as hard work. It was me who put up the radiation flare shield and cleared the neutron blasters bolts for firing.”

“And you do it so well, Vila,” Avon retorted. “I cannot think of anyone more qualified to take orders and push buttons.” He stepped down from his station and approached. “Well, Blake, did you find out what you wanted to know?”

“Yes, I think so,” I replied.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

I had weighed up the consequences of how much to tell them, and had decided against it. It was not the sort of news to inspire confidence. I needed their pity even less.

“Forrid said it was unlikely to happen again. It appears I am all right.”

Avon opened his mouth to say something else. I changed the subject. 

“He also spoke of a place, a medical research facility,” I continued. “Orac, what can you tell us of a place called Grandeer?”

“What is special about Grandeer?” Cally interjected.

“They have an interest in neuroscience.”

“Ah, not ‘all right’ then,” said Avon.

“I have no information on Grandeer,” spoke up Orac.

“What, nothing at all?” I queried.

“The name does not appear in official Federation records. However, colloquial evidence would support the claim that it exists. It is possible it is a codename, either for a location or for a particular field of research.”

“That’s not very helpful, Orac,” I said. “Forrid said it was in Sector Seven. See what you can find out.”

“Why the sudden interest?” asked Jenna.

“Something that Forrid said. He told me that the Federation had implemented a policy of using Alpha Grade prisoners for medical experimentation into brain injuries. Something to do with ‘measurable intelligence’ to see how much survives after a period of clinical death.” I glanced back at Avon. “It’s possible that’s where we would have ended up.”

“Which is not a particularly comforting thought,” said he. 

“Do you mean they kill people and revive them?” asked Cally. “That’s inhumane.”

“I’m sure they justify it as being in the interests of the greater good,” said Avon.

“What’s the matter?” said Vila. “Don’t fancy the thought of living in perpetual torment?”

“I already live in perpetual torment,” came Avon’s reply as he turned away from him. “It started the day you came aboard this ship.”

“It could be worse, you know,” Vila retorted.

“Which is why I have no intention of going anywhere near Grandeer, whatever or wherever it is.”

“I agree with Avon,” said Jenna. “Grandeer is not a priority, Blake.”

“It is for me,” I said. “Unless you can give me a good reason to the contrary.”

“I can give you two,” said Avon sharply. “Three, if they decide Jenna meets their criteria. If they require human specimens with ‘measurable intelligence’, they will have no use for Cally or Vila.” He shot Vila a sideways glance. “You may decide which category fits you best.”

“So they’d let us go then?” said Vila brightly.

“No,” said Cally.

“Oh.” His expression twisted into a mask of horror. “ _Oh_. I don’t think I fancy going to Grandeer.”

“The information on Docholli is only good for forty hours,” said Jenna. “After that, he could disappear for good. If we lose him, we may never discover the location of Star One.”

I could have overruled them. Grandeer mattered, to _me_ at least. Then again, so did finding Control. There was another consideration too. Once Control was eliminated, Grandeer might become more visible. And vulnerable. 

“Very well. Zen, set course for Freedom City, increase speed to Standard by Ten. Confirm arrival time.”

An array of lights dashed across the bronzed dome. “Thirty-eight hours.”

“Cutting it fine,” Jenna remarked.

“It’s enough.”

I turned back to look at them. There was an air of weariness about the ship lately that our continued running did not help. It was more evident now than ever. Vila looked dead on his feet, Jenna’s cut face needed attention and Cally’s eyes were red from too long staring at the monitors. And then there was Avon. I assumed he was not immune from the everyday considerations of the rest of us, but you never could tell. Perhaps there was something to be said for the sustaining power of simmering resentment after all.

“Why don’t the rest of you get some sleep?” I suggested. “I’ll take over here.”

No one argued. One by one they departed until only Avon was left. He appeared to be overly attentive to some minor aspect of his station, and I wondered if there was more to his interest than maintenance alone.

“You’re staying?”

“Not if I had any sense,” said he, not looking up from his work. “On the other hand, the prospect of waking up to find myself part of someone else’s experiment has little appeal.”

“I’m not going to Grandeer.” I hesitated. “Not yet, in any case.”

“Going at all would be unwise.” It was Avon’s turn to pause to emphasize his point. “Unless you thought you had nothing to lose.”

“This has nothing to do with the prediction,” I said irritably. Avon turned to stare at me, a question in his eyes. “Or anything Forrid had to say.”

“Then what?”

I drew a deep breath. “I had a brother and sister. I was told they were dead. What if that information was false? What if...” I could hardly bring myself to put it into words, as if verbalising my fears could give them a power that thoughts alone could not. “What if they were taken to Grandeer?”

“It would be too late to help them now.”

It was true, but it did not need saying.

“You have a brother,” I returned, feeling repelled by his apparent disinterest.

Avon turned his attention back to the array of blinking lights before him. “He’s dead.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I neither know nor care.”

Given his response to his brother’s image when we first arrived on the _Liberator_ , I found that hard to believe.

“Then let me rephrase it,” said he coldly in answer to my charge. “My brother is dead... to _me_. If I ever find him, I intend to make that condition permanent.”

This time, I did believe him.

“According to Zen,” he continued, “there is an asymmetrical energy drain in the artificial gravity generators. It may be nothing, but I would rather be sure.” Avon left his post and started for the stairs, only to stop as he came within my vicinity. “Has it occurred to you that Forrid might not have been telling the truth?”

“Why wouldn’t he? We went to him.”

“Yes.” He let the thought linger for a moment. “Convenient how we always manage to find these people when we need them.”

My gaze went to Orac.

“I was thinking of the Federation,” said Avon. “Cause and effect. Some patterns of behaviour are predictable, even yours.”

I gave it some consideration. “You think they may have got to Forrid before we did.”

“You met him.”

I nodded. “He seemed genuine.”

A breathy laugh escaped him. “Don’t we all? As for Forrid, well, if it were me, I would get a second opinion.”

He almost caught me out. _Almost_. I hadn’t planned on telling him about the nature of my medical condition, and I wasn’t about to be tricked into it either. 

“I agree,” I said, moving away from him. “Given the risks, this isn’t the sort of information we can take on trust. Despite what you may think, Avon, I’m not planning a suicide mission. I want to destroy Grandeer, not visit on a whim. Now, the artificial gravity generators, do you need any help?”

Avon said not and left, dissatisfaction registering on his face that he had not nettled me into admitting the truth of my meeting with Forrid. If any of it had been true. And there it was again, my old friend, doubt, offering a strange sort of reassurance. If Forrid had been lying, then my agenda was not confined to a timescale of five to ten years. Infinite possibilities resurfaced and died just as quickly.

 _If_ he had been lying, whispered doubt. If.

There was one way to find out. My gaze fell on Orac, forever sifting information and listening to our conversations. 

Orac, with its vast store of knowledge, basing its predictions on the known facts. Orac, who would have had access to what little data existed on the effects of the drugs used in memory revision. Orac, who would have had identified Forrid out of millions. Had sending me there been nothing more than manipulation? Or had it wanted me to know my fate? If so, I did not flatter myself that it was out of compassion. Orac had a vested interest in being proved right. 

Either way, it changed things, for me at least. Whether it changed anything else... well, who could say? Was this the revelation that set us all on the path to Gauda Prime? Or would it liberate us?

“Orac,” I said. “Play the prediction again.” 

“I am busy with your previous request,” came the testy reply.

“Show me now. I need to know if anything has changed.”

Orac made an impatient noise and complied. And I had my answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Was Forrid lying? Is Orac meddling? Will they go to Grandeer? More soon!


	7. Found

**_“I think I've heard enough, I don't like him. Orac, be a good junk heap. Shut up.”_ **  
**Vila, _Orac_**

 

**Chapter Seven**

**Gauda Prime, The Present**

**Vila**

 

I tried my hardest to find Orac, believe me, I did.

It should have been easy. After all, there couldn’t have been that many places Avon could have hidden him. He had been carrying him when we left the flyer. I had this memory of Avon following us, vanishing for a few minutes, and then appearing again. That meant there was only a few places he could have left him. 

Unfortunately for me, it also meant going back the way we had come. At every turn, I expected a hand on my shoulder. Every time I opened a cupboard, I was waiting to feel a gun in my back. And people wonder why my nerves are so bad. If the troopers don’t get me one day, the stress certainly will.

Not that there were any about. The base was empty in that eerie way when you know something is wrong. In some ways it was worse than running into a group of gun-happy troops. At least then you knew who you were running from. In their absence, I found myself questioning where everyone had gone. And why. Yes, why – I think that worried me most of all.

As for Orac, I couldn’t find him. I opened doors, looked under floor tiles, prized open air vents, tapped the walls for hidden access panels – nothing. I even thrust my hand down a service pipe, in case Avon had told Orac to miniaturise himself like he had done in the past. Not the best of ideas, as it turned out; all I found was sludge. 

Either Avon had stumbled across the one hiding place no one would ever find or… well, the alternative was that Orac had already been found. That was not a comforting thought. No loyalty, that’s the problem with computers. What the Federation could accomplish with Orac’s help didn’t bear thinking about.

I was about to give up – and it’s usually at those sort of times when good things happen – when the echoing silence worked in my favour. I was heading back when I heard the faintest whine and hum coming from a behind a locked door. No problem for me, I had it open in no time at all. And there he was. Orac, abandoned in what looked like a mess room, key in the slot, and seemingly undamaged. I can’t say how pleased I was to see him.

“Orac,” I hissed. Despite the lack of people, I couldn’t believe that my luck would hold. I kept one eye on the door. “It’s me, Vila.”

No response. The lights blinked, the internals clicked and whirred, but he was ignoring me. I shook him.

“Orac, answer me, will you?”

Finally he condescended to speak. “A data access code is required to operate this unit.”

“Forget all that nonsense!” I said. “We need your help to get out of here.”

“As I have already told you, without the correct data access code, that function is not available.”

I had to stop myself from thumping him. “All right, all right, who’s got the code?”

I didn’t really need to ask. With nowhere safe to hide Orac, Avon had improvised. He had left him on, left the key in place, and imposed limits on access. In so doing, he had rendered him useless. I could imagine how Orac had protested about that. The trouble was Avon was in no condition to remove the restriction he had imposed. On the other hand, if we could not use Orac, then neither could the Federation. No wonder they had left him behind. Perhaps they were coming back for him after the Pylene-50 had been deployed.

As if someone had read my thoughts, an alarm started to sound. An authoritative voice announced that evacuation procedures had commenced. Fifteen standard minutes was all the time we were given before... well, that wasn’t specified. I could guess. I didn’t want to be around when the pacification drugs started to take effect.

With that thought in mind, I picked up Orac and started in the direction of the main silo. He had always been a heavy lump to haul around, but it’s funny how you don’t seem to notice the weight so much when you’ve got the threat of imminent brainwashing hanging over you. I covered the distance in what must have been record time only to find that was I the first to arrive. A single Federation troop transporter remained in the silo with several guards shuffling around at its rear ramp. I hid out of sight and waited. After the voice announced that ten minutes remained, the anticipation was starting to make my teeth itch.

“It’s taking too long!” I said, mostly to myself. “Where are they?”

“I cannot answer your questions without―”

“Yes, I know, a data access code,” I muttered to Orac. “Where is that doctor with Avon?” Another half minute and I had made my decision. “It’s no good, we’ll have to go and find him.”

I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t realise how out of breath I was until I arrived gasping in the medical area. My feet slid on the floor as I rounded the corner and it was all I could to stop in time before I fell over the woman’s body. Dr Velz, sprawled in the doorway of the make-shift surgery, another victim of the general kill order. Talk of saving the life of Space Major Gamel had not saved her, even if they had given her a chance to explain. She lay where she had fallen, and now the door was keeping up a steady rhythm of trying to close, colliding with her body and opening again. 

I stooped and felt for a pulse. Nothing. I closed the lids over her unseeing eyes and dragged the body inside the room. Then I went back for Orac. There might have been no one around, but there was no point taking chances. I wasn’t going to risk losing him again.

Velz had been as good as her word. Avon, his face concealed by the faulty regeneration mask, was on a trolley by the door, ready to leave. I surveyed him, looking for signs of life, uncertain whether the troopers had been at work here too. He looked dead, but what did I know? 

I felt Avon’s neck. A thready pulse was keeping up a stoic beat under his cool flesh.

“In the event of Avon’s death,” Orac suddenly piped up, “my functions would then be accessible to you, _Vila_.”

“Oh, yes?” I said, not really paying him much attention. “I thought you couldn’t tell me anything without your precious access code.”

“I am able to inform you, as per Avon’s final instructions.”

“Well, he’s not dead, is he? Look at him, just lying there, without a care in the world.” I don’t like to think I’m slow, but I have to say it took me a while to realise what Orac was implying. “Oh, I get it. You want me to put a pillow over his head to release you from the restriction? Well, I’m not playing your games, Orac.”

I looked down at Avon. Had the situation been reversed, he would have had the pillow in place without a second thought. I can’t deny I was tempted, if only for Avon to know what it felt like to be at the mercy of someone who thinks your life is worthless. Luckily for him, I don’t give in to thoughts like that. Nor do I do what Orac tells me. Well, not all the time, anyway.

“You will not leave this base without my assistance,” Orac insisted. 

I pulled out his key. “Shut up, Orac.”

I put him on Avon’s chest and manoeuvred the trolley in line with the door. Out in the corridor, the voice announced that six minutes were remaining. I pushed and heaved and was in sight of the silo door when I came face to face with three troopers coming from another level. The lead trooper immediately raised his gun.

“Wait!” I said. “This is Space Major Gamel. I have orders―”

“Vila!” Tarrant raised his helmet and I breathed again. “You found Orac.”

“Dayna and Soolin?” I said, looking to the smaller troopers behind him.

“Here,” said Soolin, raising her helmet just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her face before replacing it. I noticed her wince as her hand stole to her arm.

“What’s the matter with you?” I said.

“Let’s just say it was close thing,” she replied. “If Tarrant had been a few minutes later, you’d be trying to leave this place alone.”

“As it was,” said Tarrant, “we were lucky to get out alive. No one else did.”

“All dead?” 

My gaze wandered to Orac. I couldn’t help wondering if the Federation’s change of heart regarding the prisoners had something to do with his talk of codes and only being able to help if certain people were dead. They had found him first, after all. If Orac had told them what he had told me, omitting names, then it would explain why they had been indiscriminate, killing all in the hope of eliminating the only one who stood in their way of accessing their prize.

“Even the Gauda Prime representatives sent as a welcoming delegation,” Tarrant was saying when I drew myself from my thoughts. “Either someone got their orders wrong or there’s something else going on here we don’t know about.”

I decided to say nothing. There would be time later. Anyway, I was probably wrong. I usually was, or so I was told often enough.

Dayna came over to the trolley and stared down at Avon. “What happened to him?” she asked.

“Long story,” said Tarrant. “More importantly, where’s Dr Velz?”

“Dead,” I said. “I went back for them. She didn’t make it.”

“And Avon?”

I shrugged. “He’s alive, barely from the look of him.”

“Let’s ask Orac.”

“We can’t,” I said. “He needs a data access code.”

“And Avon has it,” said Tarrant. Along with the newly-acquired captain’s insignia, taken from a felled officer, like the uniforms Dayna and Soolin wore, I noticed that the gun he was holding was trembling in his hands. He saw me looking and tightened his grip. The gun stopped moving. “Isn’t that convenient?”

“Not for us.”

“For Avon, I mean. It’s called making yourself indispensable, Vila. You should try it some time.” In the distance, the stentorian voice intoned that two minutes remained. Tarrant sighed and replaced his helmet. “We have to get out of here. Avon’s going to help us.”

“How?”

“We keep to the plan.”

He led the way into the silo. The two guards by the transporter straightened up when they saw us and came over.

“What’s this?” said one.

“Medical emergency,” said Tarrant. “Priority orders. We need a ship.”

The trooper’s gaze swept over Avon’s prostrate form beneath the silver blanket and Orac, doing a good impression of a mobile medical unit to the uneducated eye. It was enough to convince him.

“You’ve cut it fine,” said he. “We’re about to leave.”

“Well, we’re here now,” said Tarrant.

“Now wait a minute,” said the trooper. “There’s room for you four, but not for him.” He gestured to Avon. “You’ll have to leave him here and let him take his chances.”

Tarrant drew himself up to his full height. “Do you know who this is?” he said. “Space Major Gamel. We have orders to get him to a Federation medical facility.”

“Not on this ship you won’t,” the trooper retorted. “Sorry, sir, we’ve got orders too. We’re full.”

The voice announced that one minute remained. The troopers glanced up nervously and started to back away.

“Are there any other ships?” Tarrant demanded.

“Only those old smugglers’ ships,” said the trooper, gesturing to several space-scarred vessels towards the rear of the silo. “But you’ll need a pilot.”

“We have one. We’ll need the command codes to get through the barricade.”

“You’ll get your clearance if you get airborne,” the trooper called back. “Good luck!”

From where I was standing, luck was something we definitely needed. After _Liberator_ and _Scorpio_ , we were left with the equivalent of a second-hand salvage scow that had seen better days. Talk about coming down in the world.

“Which one?” asked Dayna, as if there much to chose between the three old wrecks.

“There,” said Tarrant, gesturing to the furthest.

“Why that one?” I protested.

“Use your eyes, Vila,” he retorted. “It’s the only one with an intact plasma drive.”

He had a point. The others looked like they were undergoing maintenance or dismantlement, panels hanging open to reveal the innermost workings of rusting, grease-stained engines or with parts stacked and scattered around their landing struts. Our potential vessel, a crescent-shaped ship with swept-forward wings, its gaudy yellow and purple paint heavily scraped in places, had a pool of liquid beneath the cockpit. In all other respects, it appeared intact. I tried not to think what vital function that liquid might have performed were it still in the ship.

“Soolin, help Vila get Avon in the hold,” Tarrant commanded, running up the lowered rear ramp. “Dayna, you’re with me.”

“All the rotten jobs,” I muttered. “At least we’re getting off this miserable planet.” I remembered too late and glanced at Soolin. “Sorry.”

“It wasn’t always like this,” she said. 

The alarm abruptly stopped. Time was up. A blaring klaxon took its place, a long drawn out drone repeating at regular intervals. My mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“Pylene-50,” I said. “We’re too late!”

“Not yet,” said Soolin, eyeing the pale blue rectangle of open sky beyond the silo’s main doors. “Let’s get aboard.”

“On this? We’ll be lucky if we don’t break up taking off!”

“Would you rather be on that transporter?” 

I thought about it. Mixing with Federation troopers was the last place we needed to be.

Soolin grimaced as she braced herself against the trolley. “Even if it doesn’t fly, the ship’s ventilation systems should provide some protection. Come on, Vila!”

The combined weight of Avon and his medical trolley took all my effort to push up the ramp. Soolin tried, but hampered as she was by her injured arm, I had to do most of the work. I was gasping for air by the time we made it inside and closed the ramp. Then, down into the hold, a rank, greasy pit that smelled as though something had died in there. The crew probably, given the number of bounty hunters around here.

We secured the trolley to the forward bulkhead and left Avon behind in the dark. Not much else we could do for him. Still, he had Orac for company, much comfort he was.

Up in the cramped cockpit, where four seats had been forced into a space slightly larger than the average store cupboard, Tarrant was wrestling with the controls. I squeezed myself into one of the rear seats and tightened the frayed belt around my waist. Pointless really, given that we were going nowhere. Despite Tarrant’s best efforts, the ship remained unresponsive. Then on the fifth attempt, the plasma drive spluttered into life and the control panel lit with blinking lights. I breathed a sigh of relief.

All the time, the klaxon was still sounding.

“We have time,” said Tarrant. “If we can clear Gauda Prime before the drug filters through the stratosphere, we should be all right.”

I watched as he reached for the main thrusters. His hand was shaking so much, he had trouble making contact. It needed Dayna to close his fingers around the bar before he could tighten his grip.

“Thanks,” he grunted to her. “Right, let’s see this piece of junk can do. Strap yourselves in.”

The ship shook as the drive drew on greater power. Beside me, a panel rattled free under the vibrations. A bolt shot past my nose as the noise rose to a crescendo, and then suddenly we were moving forward. Tarrant kept a steady pressure on the thrusters, increasing power as the ship passed out of the silo and up beyond the trees. Higher the ship climbed until we emerged into the black void of space. Looking back at Gauda Prime through the grimy cockpit windows, a white haze was just visible, spreading at speed from the polar regions.

“I thought they had to make Pylene-50 on the planet where it was to be deployed,” Dayna observed.

“It looks like they’ve overcome that particular obstacle,” said Tarrant. Dotted in a defensive line ahead was a number of Federation ships. “Let’s see if our friend kept his word. Dayna, see if you can raise them on the communicator.”

I sat there, feeling helpless, hearing the blood pounding in my ears, as Dayna repeated our story concerning Space Major Gamel. For the longest time, there was no response. If they decided we were less than convincing, our battered ship would be destroyed by the first plasma bolt. Then, through the static, came our authorisation and we all breathed again. I was clutching the edge of my seat as Tarrant manoeuvred the ship through the line, expecting a challenge at any moment. When none came, we continued on, away from Gauda Prime and out towards the distant stars of Gauda Minor.

“Soolin, you know this system,” said Tarrant. “We need somewhere to hide.”

“And lick our wounds?”

He shot her a faint smile. “In my case, yes.”

Soolin’s gaze was directed out of the side window as she gave it some thought.

“Recobos,” she said decisively. “It’s a trading colony about 30 hours from Gauda Prime.”

“Neutral?” asked Dayna.

“If you have enough credits.”

“Orac should be able to help with that,” said Tarrant. He got stiffly to his feet and almost toppled over, only to steady himself against his seat. “Dayna, get the navigational computers to set a course for Recobos. Soolin, Vila, you’re with me.”

“Why?” I queried. “Where are we going?”

Tarrant paused and looked down at me. “We need Orac. Avon has the code. We’re going to wake him up.”

“How? He’s not well.”

“Nor am I. But we’re going to do it anyway.”

“You’ll kill him!” I protested.

“Vila, we’re not winning at the moment.” Tarrant’s eyes were frosted with contempt. “Orac is our only advantage. Now, we can get Avon to tell us the code or the Federation will do it. What would you prefer?”

“Us,” I muttered.

“Good.” He turned to Soolin. “Search this ship from top to bottom. See if they left anything we can use. Contraband, medical supplies, whatever you can find. I’ll see you down in the hold. We have to wake Avon up – whatever it takes. And then he’s got some explaining to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Orac, did you really try to get Vila to kill Avon? Did your meddling just get everyone on the base killed? Let's hope they can wake Avon up before Orac makes any more *suggestions*!


	8. Non Sequitur

**_“If you want one of your own cold, rational explanations, we can't afford to lose you.”_ **  
**Cally to Avon, _Terminal_ **

 

**Chapter Eight**

**The _Liberator_ , The Past**

**Cally**

 

I could not believe what I was seeing. A scene of horror, of death. A blood-soaked tableau, played out by a grotesque parody of familiar figures on the _Liberator’s_ main viewer. And Avon, standing to one side, watching it closely, his face grey and expressionless as if cut from living rock.

I should have made him aware of my presence long before. Good manners, some might say, or just another of those practicalities that sharing a closed space with others demands. On some days, the ship feels unbearably large, a void that needs filling to smother the isolation. On others, we trip and fall over each other, never entirely finding escape until resentment smoulders into bickering and outright war. An uneasy truce holds sway most days, balanced between respect for other’s boundaries and the needs of running the ship.

Finding that medium recently had been harder than usual, set as our sights were on Earth. Knowing Avon’s reasons did not make his intentions more palatable, especially in light of my own loss. I needed hope, not another pointless death. It would not bring the dead back to life, however much he wished otherwise.

And here was yet more death. The chill that shivered across my skin translated itself into thought. Unguarded, it spilled from my mind into his, shocking him into awareness.

He turned abruptly, anger flashing in his eyes, calling for Orac to terminate the recording. Another command, and it was locked away, for his access alone.

“What do you want, Cally?”

I had come to tell him that the teleport co-ordinates had been fixed, that we were ready to put him down at his chosen location for his own personal mission of revenge. I had also come to remonstrate with him one last time. Still time to turn back, I had thought to tell him. Instead I had been witness to a vision drawn from the nightmares of insanity.

“Avon, what was that?”

“Nothing.” So saying, he removed Orac’s key and set it aside. “It’s not important.”

There it was again, the automatic dismissal, as though that was answer enough, along with his imminent departure. Once, it might have been. Once too, I might have ignored it. Recently though, I was feeling the lack of contact keenly. I yearned for that lambent murmur of distant voices, some fond, some furious, but always there. Shutting them out had easy. Finding them again, impossible.

Now, there was only the random, untidy emotional responses from the people around me. Just lately, one of those minds was increasingly closed to me. Whether it had been a gradual process or a sudden change, I could not say. My own loss had perhaps sharpened my awareness of it. His thoughts had always been guarded, but never like this. It was a singular lack of being, the like of which I had only experienced this close when I awoke one morning to find that the moon disc I had rescued from Zondar had died, a consequence of its isolation. In my darkest moments, I had wondered if I would share its fate, that slow withering to a cold, silent end. Not while I had companions, I told myself. Zelda and the others would always be there. Now there were not, the fate of the moon disc seemed more relevant than ever.

Even now, annoyed by my presence as Avon was, there should be have been something more than the faintest ripple I acknowledged at the edge of my awareness.

There had to be more than this. I needed a reaction.

“You can tell me now or you can explain it to the others,” I challenged him.

It stopped him. He turned, his gaze lingering in mine before he pulled away. 

“What will you tell them, Cally?”

He had me there. I was struggling to make sense of what I had seen. “Is Blake dead?” I asked.

“Not as far as I know.” Avon offered me a tight-lipped smile. “He always had an irritating habit of surviving.”

“Some of those times, he had you to thank.”

Avon accepted this in silence.

“Avon, tell me,” I urged.

Seeing my determination, he drew a deep breath and let it shudder out of him. Despite his control, something was starting to stir. “What do you think you saw?”

I shook my head, unable to frame the words into any coherent meaning. “You, Vila, Blake, a quarrel, a misunderstanding, I don’t know.”

“A prediction,” he replied smoothly. “Orac made it some time ago. Orac showed it to Blake, and Blake in turn showed it to me.”

“And Vila, does he know?”

Avon shook his head. “Vila must never know.”

“Why?”

“Because some time in the future, on a planet called Gauda Prime, Vila will attempt to kill Blake. And then I will kill Vila. Blake, as you saw, will not survive.”

I stared at him. The resignation in his voice was terrible to hear. “No,” I found myself saying. “Vila would never do that.”

“How else would you explain it?” A pause. “Unless you believe me capable―”

“No, Avon, never.” He was waiting for an answer. “Orac could not predict this. It’s impossible.”

“I agree.” His gaze turned back to the screen. “Yet it never changes, Cally. No matter what we do, where we go. Blake came to believe it. It made him reckless.”

“What has it made you?”

Something passed through his dark eyes, a flicker that was almost amusement. “Confident.”

A strange answer, I thought. In general terms, that was something I never thought Avon lacked. If he was being specific, however, I began to see why he would be consulting it now before embarking on his petty war of retribution.

“Orac cannot guarantee your survival.”

Something like a breathy laugh escaped him. But he was not laughing at me, rather at his own private joke, drawn from a memory which my words had brought again to mind.

“Orac has a vested interest in securing the accuracy of his predictions. It needs me back. In any case, I have every intention of returning.”

“Your precious homing implant,” I retorted, with more vehemence than I had intended. “What if it fails, Avon? What if they have you strapped down and you cannot reach it in time? What if―”

He cut me dead. “I’ll manage.”

“For how long? Three days? Five, ten?”

“Have you finished?”

His voice was unreadable. The barriers were firmly in place. The silence yawned, bringing it with the quality of a held breath. Believing he had won, he turned to go.

“I will tell Vila.” My voice wavered, thinly. “You cannot stop me.”

Another smile, this time it did not reach his eyes. “No, you won’t. You are not that callous.”

“Then you don’t know me.”

“Perhaps not. But let me put it another way. If you tell Vila, he will run. I need him here, where I can watch him, where I can stop him, whatever it takes.”

It was not the answer I had been expecting. “Now who is the callous one, Avon?”

“I prefer the word practical.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” There was no use arguing with him, especially now. If I never saw him again, then our last words should not be angry ones. “I will say nothing.”

“Good. Now forget what you saw.”

He was asking the impossible. The knowledge was corrosive. The next time I saw Vila, the doubt would be in my mind. I would hate myself for it.

“You are set on going?” I said instead. “Nothing I can say to change your mind?” I knew the answer without him having to say it. I shook my head. “Very well. The teleport co-ordinates are set. Whenever you are ready.”

“I’m ready.”

As he stepped past me, I felt the soft brush of the worn leather of his sleeve against my hand. “You’re wearing that?”

He glanced down at the faded silver-grey of his jacket, riven with cracks and creases. “It’s old. I can afford to lose it.”

I wondered if he applied that to every area of his life. I thought to mention also that the one did not necessarily equate to the other. It is the loss of those things we have cherished for years that often cause us the most grief. Possessions, people, even nurtured grievances – they become part of our identity. If Avon emerged from this stripped of his wellspring of hate, I had to question what would take its place.

In the end, I said nothing. Instead, I trailed behind him out of the flight deck. In the teleport, Vila was waiting, as nervous and jumpy as ever. I could not look him in the eye.

“All set?” he asked eagerly.

“You know what you have to do?” said Avon.

Vila nodded quickly. “Yes. I’ll have it all set up for when you get back. I’ll find a generator to run the equipment.” He suddenly dropped the teleport bracelet he had been holding and dropped to his knees to retrieve it.

“Not a full charge,” said Avon. “We don’t want to give our guest any escape route.”

“A full charge?” Vila bobbed up. His expression was quizzical. “Is that wise, Avon?” Receiving no answer, he shrugged. “Well, if you say so, a full charge it is.”

Avon snapped the teleport bracelet around his wrist. “Put us down, Cally.”

It was over. No more discussion. Our opinions were irrelevant.

The teleport shimmered and both vanished. A minute later, at the chime, I reversed the process and Vila reappeared. In his hand, he carried Avon’s bracelet. 

“All done.” He gave me an encouraging smile. “He’ll be all right.” And then, as much for his own benefit as mine: “Yes, I’m sure he will.”

I got up. “You don’t know that, Vila.”

“Of course he will,” he called after me. “He said he was coming back.”

No, I thought, as I left him behind. Someone would be back, but it would not be Avon. Not the Avon I thought I knew.


	9. Revival

**_“All my life, for as long as I can remember, there's been people like you.”_ **  
**Vila, _City at the Edge of the World_**

 

**Chapter Nine**

**Two hours from Gauda Prime, The Present**

**Vila**

 

“I found this,” said Soolin as she descended the steps into the hold. The small silver-grey box she carried had a single external lock that swayed and bumped against the hasp, clinging on by a shattered fragment of twisted metal.

I could have had that lock open before anyone could say: “Open that lock, Vila.” And with less damage too. But no one had asked me and I was starting to feel superfluous. The last of the old guard, I suppose they would have called me. Not much use for anything other than talking about the good old days. Poor old Vila. He knew Blake, you know. And look what happened to him.

I swallowed, forcing away the tight ball of anxiety that had been constricting my throat. With it the voice of doubt was silenced for a while. Thoughts like that are insidious. Let them take a hold and one day you can’t face getting up in the morning. Anyway, I wasn’t the last, not yet. Avon was still here, holding on for dear life. Ironic that, considering he was.

Down in the hold, beneath the stark, flickering arctic white of the lights, looking at his face, I had to wonder. He was unnaturally pale, as though he had been bled dry. I had a strong, irrepressible impression of a mutoid, with that silvery skin of theirs and vampire ways. Tarrant was still pressing for waking Avon up, but I didn’t see how it was possible. Somewhere along the way, he seemed to have slipped away from us and with every hour that took us further from Gauda Prime it felt as though he was more distant than ever. Perhaps we had left him behind; perhaps it was were he wanted to be, not trapped on a creaking ship with the massed forces of the Federation waiting to descend.

I’m not entirely heartless though. I had looked. I just hadn’t been as successful as Soolin.

“It’s what passes as medical supplies on this ship,” she said. Placing the box on the trolley at Avon’s side, she started sorting through an assortment of pills and potions, packets and pouches.

“Do we know what any of these are?” asked Tarrant.

“Some of them.” Soolin picked up a packet of small blue pills, only to toss them aside. “He won’t be needing those. Ah, now these are interesting. I haven’t seen these in a while.”

“What are they?” I enquired, regarding the iridescent hues of the tablets she held with suspicion.

“They used call them Lightning Bolts. It’s a stimulant used by pilots. Effective, but illegal. And dangerous.”

“How so?”

“They have been known to make people’s brains explode, Vila.”

“Not literally,” I scoffed.

“Literally. It’s derived from Thundarium.”

“The most explosive substance in the galaxy?” I took a step back. “We’d better not give Avon that. He’s got enough problems.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any pain-suppressants in there?” asked Tarrant.

“Try these.” Concern passed through her eyes as she handed him a battered packet and watched as he downed a tablet. “How bad is it?”

He grimaced. “I’ll feel a lot better if we can get Orac back on our side.”

“If he was ever on it to start with,” I muttered. I caught Tarrant looking at me curiously. “You do know he was responsible for the general kill order? We could all have been murdered in our cells and Orac wouldn’t have given us a second thought.”

“We almost were,” said he. “Anything else in there, Soolin?”

“This might do it.” From the depths of the box, she withdrew a long tube, filled with a bright green viscous substance. “Blood serum.”

I couldn’t stop my lip curling in disgust. “That’s vile, that is. Why would anyone want that?”

“Pirates will pay highly for this,” Soolin explained. “It’s blood, Vila, highly refined and coloured to make it look more acceptable to the masses, but it’s blood all the same. Isn’t that what Avon needs right now?”

“I suppose so, but blood serum? He won’t like it.”

“Then don’t tell him.”

“Will it wake him up?” asked Tarrant.

“Blood serum contains an additional component, a stimulant called adrenaffine. It’s why mutoids never have to sleep. It’s prized by pirates, smugglers, assassins, bounty-hunters – anyone who needs extended periods of alertness.”

“You know a lot about it,” I ventured.

Soolin gave me a withering look. “You learn many things growing up on an open planet.” So saying, she gave one end of the tube a violent twist. The silver casing came away, revealing a short needle within. “Normally, this delivers a measured dose over a period of time. As we don’t have that luxury, I’m going to give Avon a quarter.”

“What if it’s too much?” I queried.

“Well, it will certainly wake him up. But for how long, I don’t know.”

I looked from Soolin to Tarrant, and back again, waiting for someone to make a decision. Get this wrong, and it was a death sentence for Avon.

“Try it,” said Tarrant finally. He anticipated my protest. “Unless you have a better suggestion, Vila.”

As it happened, I hadn’t. I looked on, that old lump rising again in my throat, as Soolin lifted Avon’s bare arm from beneath the blanket and set the vial in place over the vein in his wrist. She hesitated, just long enough for my concerns to elevate to fever pitch, before driving the needle home. In silence, we watched the level start to fall, creating sticky green patterns on the glass within. I almost reached out to stop it as the quarter was reached, but Soolin was ahead of me. She withdrew the needle and pressed her finger over the seeping spot of green liquid on the punctured skin.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Wait,” she said.

“You’ve seen this before then?”

“Once.”

“What happened?”

Her refusal to answer was worse than telling me. I’ve got the sort of imagination that can conjure up all sorts of things. But I hadn’t expected what came next.

It started with a twitch of Avon’s thumb. The fingertips followed. The fingers started to clench. He was fighting it, I thought. Then the hands, a jerking movement that spread up his arms, across his shoulders and through his chest. A shudder passed through him and with it a deep rasping breath that started to lift him from the trolley. And that terrible, terrible grimace that settled on his features, as though he was being raked over red hot coals.

“Vila, hold him!” said Tarrant. “He’s going to do himself more damage. Soolin, his legs. Don’t let him fall.”

With the extent of Avon’s injuries, it was hard to know where to hold him without causing him more discomfort. I settled on the arm that the doctor had bandaged across his chest to hold the broken collar bone in place. Beneath my grip, Avon continued to writhe and convulse, groaning now that consciousness was drawing near. A strong pulse throbbed visibly at his temple and suddenly his eyes opened, sheened with tears of pain. As the shaking subsided, I looked down into the sweat-dappled face and unfocused eyes.

“Avon?” I said softly.

Tarrant was less gentle than me. He shook him, lightly at first and then rougher. “Avon, wake up.”

The dazed eyes slowly moved to each of us in turn. I wasn’t sure that he was seeing us or some fevered creature from his imagination.

“Avon, we need the data access code you gave Orac,” Tarrant said insistently.

Avon pressed his eyelids shut. “No,” came his barely-audible whisper.

Tarrant shook him again. “We need it. We need Orac. You need to tell us now.”

Avon tried to shake his head, only to stop, suddenly wincing from the pain. “You’ll have to make me.”

Tarrant stood back, shaking his head. “What now? Is he hallucinating?”

“Look at how we’re dressed,” I said, gesturing to my own Federation uniform. “We don’t exactly look friendly.”

Tarrant gave this some thought before leaning over Avon again. “Avon, open your eyes. Who are we?”

“Federation,” he hissed.

“No, Avon, it’s us,” I said to him, closing my hand around his. “Look, it’s me, Vila.”

“Vila.” He caressed the word as though it was a sacred mantra. “Vila was the key.”

“The key to what?” Tarrant demanded.

A soft rasp of laughter escaped him. “Orac was wrong. Vila survived. I know he did. I saw him.”

Tarrant stared at me. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

I shook my head. “He was rambling like this earlier.”

“Soolin, give him another dose,” Tarrant said with a frustrated sigh.

“You can’t do that!” I protested. “Isn’t he bad enough now?”

“He isn’t lucid, Vila.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “All right, but let me try something first.” 

I leaned over him, whispered something in his ear. Avon’s eyes opened wide, his mouth gaped and he gave up the code. Orac accepted it and grudgingly decided that he was ready to help us.

“You’ll have to tell me one day what you said to Avon to make him believe you, Vila,” said Tarrant gruffly. “In the meantime, let’s see what Orac knows about our situation. I need to get back to the cockpit.” He attempted to hoist Orac up, only to stop, flinching. “Soolin, you’ll have to do it. Vila, you stay here with Avon. If he gets worse―”

“Oh, you’ll be the first to know,” I said.

Tarrant gave me a final, scathing look and left. Soolin followed, bearing Orac away. I went back to Avon. Truth was, I didn’t know what to do for him. Cally was always good at that sort of thing. Always knew the right thing to say too. She would have known what to do for Avon, probably something kinder than pumping him full of green mutoid fluid and leaving him in this agonised state.

I could have done without his constant scrutiny. His eyes seemed fixed on me, following my every movement. He was making me feel uneasy. I hadn’t meant to unsettle him, though clearly I had.

“Avon, are you...” I didn’t know what to say to him. I couldn’t even be sure he knew who I was. “You are all right, are you?”

The desperate gaze never wavered.

“I could with some help right now.” I was angry with him, despite myself. “Things aren’t looking too good, for you or me. If you’re going to keep lying there, well, you’re not much use to either of us.”

It seemed to stir him. He attempted to swallow and I noticed a little clarity come to his eyes.

“Vila.”

I rushed to his side. “Yes, Avon?”

“What you said just now.” The effort it was taking him was painful to watch. “Cally, you mentioned Cally. You said she told you something.” He stared at me, holding my gaze. “What did Cally tell you, Vila?”


	10. Resolution

_**“Avon, I was waiting for YOU.”**_  
**Blake, _Blake_**

 

**Chapter Ten**

**The planet Carusican Major, Sector Four, The Past**

**Blake**

 

“Grandeer. Where it is?”

Tied to the chair, Ceyo Gault, career military, Federation thug, former head of the Interrogation Division, looking at me with the sort of expression he reserved for the lowest scum in the galaxy. An acerbic man, hatchet-faced, his chin darkened by stubble and the beatings meted out by his previous jailers. He had been captured over a year ago; it had taken me that long to find him.

That he had been left alive was testament only to his usefulness. People wanted answers about lost families, lost lovers, lost causes. I had questions too. By now, Gault had learned to pick his battles. He eyed me with contempt, measuring my worth against previous knowledge, and decided I presented no threat.

“Never heard of it,” he declared, with sneering arrogance.

I shot him. The fleshy part of his thigh, to be exact. Maximum pain without killing him. He doubled over, straining against his bonds, and pouring enough curses upon head to last me ten lifetimes. 

I had warned him. His mistake was to disbelieve me.

“Grandeer,” I repeated.

“Go to hell!” he uttered, between clenched teeth.

“I have,” I said. “I don’t recommend it.”

With effort, he sank back on his chair, breathing fast. Blood was weeping from the wound onto the floor.

“You won’t kill me,” he said. “You haven’t got the guts.”

“I don’t have to,” I returned. “Plenty have better reasons than me.”

He chuckled, wincing slightly. “Roj Blake. I’ve heard about you. Heard you were dead.”

“A convenient cover.”

“None freer than a dead man, eh?” Gault said. He looked me up and down, his mouth twisted in disdain. “And this is how you’ve ended up. You people are all the same, spouting ideals in public and whipping the servants in private. What would your ‘followers’ say if they could see you now?”

“I can’t see them rushing to your defence, Gault.”

A sour smile curled the man’s lips. “No, but then someone has to do the dirty work. All those good little Federation citizens, sleeping soundly in their beds: who makes that possible, do you think? Men, like me.”

I let him say his piece. Interrogations were a dance, the preliminaries allowing each side to evaluate the other. Gault had gone past the stage of caring; death at this point would be welcome. If he thought he could provoke me into killing him, he was mistaken.

“Grandeer,” I said again. “I need a location.”

His eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Why? Planning on visiting some old friends?”

There it was. He knew of course, he did. Years of searching had given me the leads that had evaded Orac. A whisper here, a rumour there, and one name, that of Grandeer’s former Base Commander, Ceyo Gault.

Finding the place had become an obsession, I could not deny that. Since I had heard of its existence, thoughts of it had consumed my waking hours. A Federation testing ground, where no one ever truly died, but lived a half-life of death and resurrection in the name of medical research. In my nightmares, I heard the screams of siblings I could not remember, imagined torments inflicted on friends.

In my more coherent moments, I blamed it on my deteriorating condition. The headaches were getting worse, the hallucinations more vivid. I could count the days on one hand where I felt engaged with what was happening around me, and those times were always accompanied by a soaring sense of invulnerability that left me questioning afterwards the basis for countless choices. 

I tried not to let it show to the people around me. As Avon had once said, it doesn’t make for the most dependable of leaders.

I had had to tell Jenna, of course. She had been witness to one too many outbursts to let it pass without comment. The more time passed, I found myself relying on her as my own personal touchstone. She had curtailed several impetuous decisions that might have led to self-destruction, and caused me to question my motives on more than one occasion. 

Only in this one thing did I ignore her advice. She stood by me, nonetheless, as she had always done. Strange really, how we had managed to find each other again where Avon and all the resources at his disposal had failed. If the prediction still stood, then he would have known I was alive. Perhaps the distance was more by choice than lack of information. Until we had good reason to decide otherwise, it suited us both.

For me, that time was fast approaching. Age, appearance, an old scar from a failed attempt at surgery where the laser scalpel had malfunctioned and slipped, near costing me my eye – the details Orac had showed us were falling into place.

I reloaded the weapon, levelled it at his chest. Gault gritted his teeth and stared at me with hate-filled eyes.

“Do it!” he hissed.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “Tell me the location and I’ll kill you.”

A choked laugh escaped him. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“It’s your only chance at freedom, Gault.”

I saw the thoughts flickering behind the facade. I was offering him a way out, perhaps the best offer he’d had in a long time. The rebels on Carusican Major had paid a small fortune for him and no intention of ever letting him go. I had been allowed first access as a consideration for my reputation. They had made it clear, however, that they wanted Gault alive. Numerous people had vanished when the Federation suppressed a failed uprising on the planet, all trace that they had ever existed erased. Gault was going to resurrect their memories, willingly or otherwise.

“What guarantee do I have that you’ll keep your word?” he said, regarding me with deep suspicion.

“These days it’s all I have,” I replied.

He considered. “Very well. Grandeer. It’s on the edge of Sector Seven.”

“I know that much.”

“Verisan. The third moon. It’s disguised as part of the food processing plant.” He lifted his chin, ready to meet his death. “Now keep your word.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

Gault laughed uneasily. A pool of sweat was gathering at the base of his neck, where the collarbones formed a small notch. “Because I want you to go there, Blake. Go there and let them work on you. How is the head, by the way?” His lip curled. “Oh, yes, I know about the effects of the drugs. How far has the rot progressed? Do you know what is real and what is not any more?”

I looked around, at the filthy room, with its one small barred window creating striped patterns of light on the floor. This was going to Gault’s version of reality for a long time.

“Now kill me,” he said.

I took my finger from the trigger and replaced the weapon in the holster at my side. “I don’t think so.”

I saw panic take shape on his face. His arrogance shredded away. “You gave your word!”

“Did I? That’s the trouble with my condition, Gault, I don’t remember so well these days.”

I turned my back on him. His yells followed me all the way to the door. Then he tried another tactic to provoke a response.

“She was a pretty woman, your sister. Do you know how many times I watched her die, Blake?”

I stopped, my hand on the door handle. Beneath my tightening fingers, I felt the metal start to gave.

“Every time she died cursing your name,” he hissed. “And every time we brought her back. Oh, she was a very useful specimen before we disposed of her.”

People speak of a red mist descending at such times. Looking back, all I could remember was the fierce pounding of blood that started in my head. By the time I came back to my senses, the chair had been tipped over and Gault was on his back, a cut about his eye bleeding, his lip split and my hands were round his neck. He was smiling, revelling in his victory. Another minute and I would have choked the life out of him. 

I released him, got up and stared down at my work. His smile faded.

I walked away and closed the door behind me.

Outside, Jenna was waiting. She noticed the smears of blood on my knuckles and took my hand to inspect the damage.

“Did you get what you wanted?” she asked.

“Jenna, I know where it is.”

She did not look pleased. “What did it cost to get that information?”

I pulled my hand away and started down the corridor.

“Blake,” she called after me. A moment later, she had caught up. “What now?”

“I’m going to Grandeer,” I said. “I know you have objections. I’m not asking you to come with me.”

She rounded in front of me. “It’s suicide.”

I stopped. “Jenna, I have to do this.”

“No, you don’t. Let someone else do it. Regroup and reorganise you said. I only went along with this because...”

She broke off and looked away.

“Go on,” I urged, curious to discover her reasoning.

“Because I didn’t think you’d discover anything.” She was angry now. “Or that Gault would tell you Grandeer didn’t exist and you would stop this.”

I drew a breath. “On the contrary, he confirmed what I had always feared.”

“Your family?”

I nodded. “Look, Jenna, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be around.” She started to protest. I took her by the shoulders and made her look at me. “I can raise rebellions on a hundred worlds. I can cripple the Federation supply lines, destroy their technology. But it counts for nothing if we can’t protect the people closest to us. Whatever family I had are gone, there’s nothing I can do about that now. But I can stop it happening to others.” I released her. “I’ve never been this close before. I can destroy Grandeer.”

“A place like that is going to be heavily defended. If we still had the _Liberator_ , we might be in with a chance. But our resources are limited, Blake. We would need an army to take Grandeer.”

I smiled down at her. “Or an old friend.”

“An old―” She shook her head in disbelief. “You don’t mean...”

“Yes, Avon,” I said. “There’s been talk he’s been trying to organise an alliance amongst the leaders of the border systems. It’s probably a wise move, if they can find common ground. They lack trust.”

Jenna snorted. “Well, Avon should fit right in then.”

“It’s time we all started thinking along those lines,” I said, picking up the pace again. “We’ve been nipping at the Federation for years, and it’s made little difference. We’re fragmented, Jenna; it’s time we took a united stand. I believe a concerted effort by as many worlds as we can muster might tip the balance in our favour. The Federation is over-stretched and under-resourced. Half the worlds they control are drugged into submission, the others are bullied into line with threats and autocracy.”

“Then shouldn’t that be your objective?” Jenna insisted.

“The two are not mutually exclusive. Destroying Grandeer means exposing what the Federation has been trying to keep secret all these years. They harvested Alpha Grade prisoners for their experiments from across all the sectors, not just Earth, Jenna. Many of them would have had connections in the ruling bodies of their worlds. It’s not so easy to ignore when it’s close to home.”

I saw doubt in her eyes. Whether general or something specific, I could not tell. I did not pursue it for the time being. I pushed through the double doors where the Carusican leaders were waiting.

“He’s all yours,” I said.

“You’re welcome to stay, Blake,” one of them offered. “We need all the help we can get. The Federation isn’t finished with us yet.”

I had to decline. It was time to head back to the ship where the others were waiting. We were a small band, with a ship that lacked the _Liberator’s_ sophistication and speed. Whatever our deficiencies in technology, however, we made up for in dedication. They never questioned, never complained. There were days I could have wished for a little brittle opposition from them, but it never came. Such are the pitfalls of having created a ‘legend’.

Only Jenna resisted this steadfast devotion. Some days, as now, she would use the same arguments Avon had once employed. She was always the one who needed the most convincing. It was worth the effort. I needed her. She was still the best pilot I knew.

“Avon won’t help you,” she said. “And nor will I.”

We had stopped in the silo. At the base of the ship, the crew were busy loading supplies. We were far enough away for them not to hear our discussion.

“I agreed with him before about not going to Grandeer,” she continued. “I still do, for the same reasons.”

“If what we hear is true,” I said, “I won’t have to set foot on Grandeer to destroy it. Avon has the Tachyon Funnel.”

“Blake, we were never able to substantiate that rumour. If Avon does have it, he’s never used it. Unless he's lost it,” she added. "Like everything else he had."

We had heard of the destruction of the _Liberator_. The shock of it had passed for me, but it remained a sore point with Jenna, and always would. It had been more than just another ship.

“Even if he doesn’t, he has a ship. If I have to teleport down and set the charges myself, then I will.”

I started towards our vessel. 

“Why would he help you now?” Jenna called from behind me. “He never came looking for you, Blake.”

“Perhaps he did.” I turned and smiled at her concern. “I’ll ask him when I see him.”

“If you see him. How do you plan to contact him?”

If I told her, she would never understand. 

“I don’t have to, Jenna. I know where he will be.” I saw the question in her eyes. “Gauda Prime.”

She shrugged. It meant nothing to her.

“It’s a frontier planet. Ten days ago, a formal application was entered to have its Open Planet designation revoked. Plenty of work for bounty-hunters, I should think. Opportunities too for new recruits. That should be a good cover.”

“Maybe so, but why would Avon go there?”

“Because he knows I’ll be there. Sooner or later, he will come looking. And I’ll be waiting.”


	11. Nemesis

_**“There's no one as free as a dead man.”** _  
**Servalan, _Hostage_**

 

**Chapter Eleven**

**Three hours from Gauda Prime, The Present**

**Vila**

 

“Cally,” Avon repeated with growing impatience when I refused to answer. “Vila, what did she tell you?”

We were alone. There was a time that prospect wouldn’t have bothered me. Times usually when Blake wasn’t around, and we would settle into an easy routine of trading mutual insults back and forth or Avon would put that brain of his to some use and come up with an enterprise to make us both rich. Throw other people into the mix, and the comments became harsher. Well, I never used to take much notice. Water off a slime-crawler’s back, as they say. As long as we still had those private moments, when I could kid myself that it just like old times.

I can’t remember quite when that stopped happening. Probably the same time we lost the _Liberator_. We had other things to think about, I suppose, and it took me ages to notice that we hadn’t talked in a long time. Not _properly_ talked, I mean, like before. I thought it was an attempt at reconciliation when we took that shuttle down to Malodar.

Looking back, I should have left after that. Easy to say, not so easy to do. I suppose I should have made contingency plans years ago. It’s one of those things you keep putting off, because you never expect the worst to happen. And then it does and you’re stranded, ready to quit one life and start a new one and stuck somewhere in the middle, not knowing what to do for the best.

So here I was, alone again, with Avon. He was becoming more coherent by the minute and starting to explore his limits as far as his injuries would allow. Being shot had done nothing for his mood. I could only guess at what else was on his mind. The only consolation was knowing he was too weak to try to kill me again.

“I don’t think you should move so much,” I suggested.

“Stop avoiding the question,” he returned.

“What does it matter now?”

He glared at me. “It matters, Vila. What you said to me just now: ‘If you don’t give us the code, I’ll tell them what Cally told me’. What was it?”

I shrugged and kept my distance. If I chose not to tell, there wasn’t much he could do about it. I let it go for a long as I could. As petty rebellions went, it was enough to let him know how things stood.

“Cally told me a lot of things, Avon,” I said eventually. “She said you would need a friend one day. She was right about that, wasn’t she? Tarrant wanted to leave you behind on Gauda Prime.”

“Sensible.”

“You’re only here because I insisted, you know.”

“Do you expect me to be grateful?”

He rolled slightly, tried to prop himself up on one elbow and failed. Not the easiest moves with his left hand in a cast and the right in a sling. He gave up and lay back, breathing heavily.

“As for Cally,” I said, “she told me that, if there came a time when she wasn’t around and you had forgotten who you were...”

I hesitated, and those piercing eyes came to rest on me again. “Go on,” he urged.

“Then I was to tell you...” I held his gaze. “That you should have told us about Orac a long time ago.” 

He let out a soft, broken laugh that ended in a pained cough. “So, she kept her word. I wondered.”

“What did she mean, Avon? What about Orac? And what about me? You keep saying I was the key.”

“I’ll tell you another time,” he said vaguely. “What’s our situation?”

“Bad,” I said. “Everyone’s pretty upset with you, Avon.”

“Are they?” he muttered, as much to himself as to me. “Then I’d better get up.” He saw how I held back. “I see. Well, I don’t blame you, Vila.”

“Tell me know you knew I was going to get shot. That is why you gave me that blast vest, isn’t it?”

“It seemed a possibility, given our destination.”

“Oh, no, that won’t do it. We’ve been worse places than Gauda Prime.” I took a deep breath before speaking. “And then there’s Blake.”

A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. “Blake is dead, Vila.”

“I know that. You went rigid, Avon. We didn’t know what was happening.”

“Nor did I. It wasn’t what I was expecting.” A low sigh escaped him. He had been resting his hand in its heavy cast over his eyes to block out the light. Now he removed his arm, and with effort lifted the blanket, seeing the large expanse of white around his chest. “I didn’t expect to be here either.”

“We had some help from a friend getting you away from Gauda Prime. She’s dead now.” I waited for a reaction and got none. Whether he was too numb or too indifferent to care, I could not say. “She did what she could for you, but it was pretty primitive down there in terms of medical equipment. You’ll have to get better the old-fashioned way.”

“Proved to be inferior to technological intervention half a millennia ago.” Avon grimaced slightly as he flexed the fingers that protruded from the edge of the cast. “I don’t have time to wait for my hand to heal itself if I ever want to be able to use it again. Get me up.”

I helped him into a sitting position. He swayed before correcting himself.

“Dizzy?” I asked.

He nodded, eyes closed until the sensation passed.

“That’d be the, uh, medication we gave you,” I said, deciding now wasn’t the best time to tell him about the mutoid blood serum. It had worked, even if the thought of it was enough to curdle the strongest stomachs. “You should take it easy. You lost a lot of blood.”

“I’ll manage,” Avon said. Gingerly, he tried to take his right arm from the sling, only to stop and replace it.

“You broke your collarbone,” I explained. 

“I didn’t break it, Vila.” He glanced up at me with irritation. “Like my hand, it got in the way of trooper’s boot.”

My next question was lost as a thunderclap sounded from the bowels of the ship. The trolley lurched and I had to grab Avon to stop him falling. The noise faded to a low rumble. I didn’t know if I was imagining it, but it sounded to me as though the engines had subtly changed in pitch.

“What the hell was that?” Avon demanded.

“I’ll go and find out.”

“No, you won’t,” he said. “Find me something to wear.”

I hesitated. “Is that wise?”

His eyes flashed with anger and contempt. “Would you prefer we sit here and reminisce about the ‘good old days’? Don’t deceive yourself, Vila. Those days never existed, except in your imagination.”

There was a challenge in his voice. I chose my next words with less care than I should have. “And I suppose you didn’t shoot Blake either?”

The blow landed. I saw the blankness he used to cover it up. “Yes, I did. I can’t change what happened. I thought I could. That was my mistake.”

“A mistake that cost Blake his life.”

“Do you want it cost us ours?” He stared hard at me. “Then get me some clothes.”

I did what I was told. What I found was a dirty navy overall to which Avon gave his reluctant consent. Somehow, with a good deal of pushing, pulling and the occasional groan, we managed to get him dressed, and then up on his feet, where he refused my arm, preferring the support of the nearby wall. Twice he staggered, and twice he pushed me away. Since he didn’t want my help, I left him to it.

By the time we had made it to the cockpit, he was steadier on his feet. How he was managing it, I didn’t know. A mix of adrenaffine and will-power, I imagined. 

To say the others were surprised to see him was an understatement. The conversation stopped and three sets of eyes turned in our direction. Any fears I had of a brewing mutiny that would see the pair of us ejected from the nearest airlock evaporated. After the shock of his sudden appearance had passed, Soolin cleared the way for Avon to take the front seat beside Tarrant. With nowhere left to sit, I took up position at the back, keeping a hand on Dayna’s chair for support.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Tarrant asked, watching as Avon tried to manoeuvre himself into the chair, only to end up clumsily falling into it. He adjusted his position and tried to make himself comfortable, never easy with a wound in your side and a collection of broken bones. “You look dead on your feet.”

“Yes, well, appearances can be deceptive.” Avon took in his surroundings with a critical eye. “Where are we?”

Tarrant shook his head, knowing that was the best he was going to get from Avon. “In a stolen ship with the Federation snapping at our heels. We were lucky to get off Gauda Prime alive.” He looked away. “Avon, about what happened.”

“What about it?”

He struggled to conceal his exasperation. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“I believed you. Isn’t that enough?”

I could tell from his expression that it wasn’t the answer Tarrant had been expecting. Not what any of us was expecting, if I was being honest. There again, Avon hadn’t said much after Anna had died either. I wouldn’t have called it normal, but it was normal for Avon, whatever that was these days. 

“For now,” said Tarrant finally.

“Survival is all that matters. Anything else is irrelevant.” Avon let the thought linger, as if he was daring them to contradict him. As strategies went, it worked. “Well, how do we stand?”

“Which version would you prefer?”

“The short one.”

Tarrant took a deep breath. “To get you off Gauda Prime, we said you were Space Major Gamel. We had clearance for this ship to take you to the nearest Federation medical facility. Orac informs us that they signalled ahead to expect our arrival. When we fail to appear, they’ll come looking for us.”

“How soon?” asked Avon.

“Any time now. Which would not be a problem, if we had a reliable ship. That bang you heard was an explosion in the main plasma drive. The best we can manage is Time Distort Two.”

“Doubling our journey time to Recobos,” said Soolin. 

Avon inclined his head in her direction.

“A trading colony,” she added.

“It won’t take them long to find us,” I said.

“As if we didn’t know,” Dayna said, giving me a sideways glance.

A flat electronic tone started. A light flashed on the communications console, demanding attention. We all stared at it, willing it to stop. 

“Shouldn’t we answer it?” said Dayna.

“That depends on who’s trying to contact us,” Avon replied. “Well, let’s see. What are we calling ourselves these days?”

“Desperate?” I suggested.

“The previous owners used _Invincible_ as the call sign,” said Tarrant. “Much good it did them.”

Avon activated the communicator. “This is the freighter _Invincible_ out of...” He looked to Dayna at the navigational computer.

“Sonitoba,” she whispered. “It’s the nearest Federation colony.”

“Out of Sonitoba,” Avon finished.

“Avon.” A smooth, familiar voice came from the communicator. “So you did survive. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear it.”

“Servalan.”

“Please, not over an open channel.”

“My apologies, _Sleer_. What do you want?”

“To offer my condolences. I understand your reunion did not go well.”

Avon silenced the channel. “Anything on the long-range detectors?”

“We don’t have any,” said Soolin.

He muttered something under his breath and reactivated the communicator.

“Still, I’m sure you have other friends you can call on,” Servalan continued. “I have one here with me now. You may remember him – Shrinker?”

Avon snapped the channel shut and turned as fast as he could in my direction. “Vila!”

“What?!” I protested. “It’s not my fault. Fully-charged generators you said.”

“Not fully-charged,” Avon retorted. “There were fissures in that cave. Didn’t you see the water?”

I pulled a face. “Well, Cally was there. She never said anything.”

“Cally objected to what I was doing.” 

He opened the channel again.

“Avon?” said Servalan. “Are you still there?”

“Where else would I be?”

A soft laugh came through the communicator. “Good. Because Shrinker says he is looking forward to seeing you again. Something about a cave. Well, he didn’t emerge entirely unscathed.” She paused for dramatic effect. “He says you owe him a hand.”

Avon glanced down, at one hand tightly encased in rigid bandages and the other he was keeping close to his chest. “Tell him I don’t have one to spare.”

“Ah, the report said the troopers had been rough with you. But I’m sure Shrinker will make do with what you’ve got. He was telling me how he’s going to take it one joint at a time. It’s rare these days to find someone who puts that much thought into their work.”

“You didn’t contact us to pass on messages, Sleer,” Avon said. “What is it you want?”

“From you, nothing. I do, however, have an offer for the others on board your ship. I’m in a position to be generous. I have no particular quarrel with them.”

“I disagree,” Dayna muttered.

“I am prepared to let them go free. I will have them declared dead, their records expunged. They can go anywhere, take new identities, start afresh. The Federation will not pursue them, unless they give us reason.”

“And the price for this largesse?” said Avon.

“They give me you, Avon,” said Servalan. “You and Orac. Those are my terms, not unreasonable in the circumstances.” There was a pause before she spoke again. “Well, I’ll leave you to think about. My ship will be in range within the hour. I’ll expect your answer then.”

The channel lapsed into silence. It dragged. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what the others were going to say either. It was the best offer we’d had in a long time. Barring Servalan's terms, reasonable or otherwise.

“Well?” said Avon at last. 

He was staring straight ahead, at the distant view of a lightning-lit nebula, apparently disinterested in his fate.

“Is that a question or a statement?” asked Tarrant.

“Either. Choose.”

“No. No, of course not,” said Dayna decisively. “We wouldn’t think of it, Avon.”

“Servalan would never keep her word in any case,” Soolin remarked.

“Practical as ever,” said Avon. “Tarrant?”

“No,” he returned eventually. “Even if I believed her, I doubt I’ll live long enough to enjoy this so-called freedom she’s offering.” 

He held up his hand. The trembling seemed worse from where I was standing.

“Nerve damage?” said Avon.

“The after-effects of the stun,” he said. “At first it was pins and needles. Now I’m losing feeling in my hands and feet. At this rate, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to fly this ship.”

The look Avon gave him bordered on sympathy. “Very well. Then we need another plan. Vila―”

“You’re not going to ask me, then?” I said.

Avon forced a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Of course. Well?”

“No,” I said grudgingly.

“Then come with me.” Avon pushed himself up to his feet. “And bring Orac. I need to ask it something.”


	12. Counterpoint

_**“Oh, you'll have to do better than that, Orac, if you expect me to kill them.”** _  
**Avon, _Headhunter_**

 

**Chapter Twelve**

**Xenon Base, The Past**

**Avon**

 

I should have killed Vila.

It would have put us both out of our misery. Vila, from wandering about in a drunken stupor with those wide-eyed accusing looks of his. And me, from wondering.

Yes, I should have killed him. But I didn’t. Or couldn’t. I’m not sure which.

I had to ask myself whether I tried hard enough. The shuttle wasn’t that big, the spaces to hide limited. The idiot hadn’t even had the sense to hide that plastic trolley I had given him, but dropped it right outside his hiding place. Yes, I knew exactly where he was. I can only conclude that I was too... tentative.

It troubles me to admit it. Just a word perhaps, but one I never thought to apply to myself. To give it a definition requires explanation. Killing Vila should have been easy. Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t have called him, asking for his help as if it was the most reasonable request in the world, I would have demanded he appear, as per usual. Then, if he hadn’t, I would have ripped the shuttle apart and pulled him from that wretched rat-hole where he was hiding. And ended it.

I did neither of those things. I found another solution. Well, it was logical, really. The weight had not been there the first time we had returned to the ship. If not attributable to the Tachyon Funnel, then it had to be something else, something new added to the shuttle. Looking back, I have to wonder why Orac had not suggested it.

But then Orac always had it own interests at heart. Truth, to Orac, has ever been a flexible concept. What to tell and when, what it neglects to tell us as important as what it reveals. In the heat of the moment, I saw it as a means of survival... and something else.

I should have known that Orac would never given me the opportunity to prove him wrong. Letting Vila die at that point would have ruined his prediction. And if I carried the argument to its logical conclusion, then it can only be that Orac knew I would not do it, but led me instead to the real cause of our flight problems.

It seems far-fetched. Easier to have told me. But then in my hunt for Vila, I was moving slower, taking my time. I stumbled across the neutron material, as Orac must have known I would. It was no mere coincidence. Orac would never gamble with its own survival, any more than I would with mine. We share that in common.

And, in applying Orac’s reasoning, I had to conclude that the suggestion to kill Vila was an experiment. A test run, another necessary condition before Gauda Prime. And, if I were honest with myself, I had to concede, in light of events, it was a weakness I was forced to acknowledge. 

What alerted Orac, I wonder, that I could not see for myself? Looking back, I had defied its suggestion to leave Vila along with Tarrant on the ship to die when Muller’s android presented a threat. Another test? I had unwittingly challenged it to give me a better reason to sanction their deaths. Well, Orac had done that. What better reason than the imminent prospect of my own demise? And still I had been unable to do it.

If there was a purpose to the madness, it must have been this, that events would unfold to fit Orac’s prediction. Vila would kill Blake and I would be unable to stop him. Twice now I had proven myself incapable of the act. The third time, Orac expected me to fail, as I failed in the past. What was it that held my hand, sentiment? I doubt that. Or did Vila still have some value? Well, perhaps.

But was he so far gone, that his lack of trust would set in motion the events that would end with Blake dying in my arms?

Was that it, Orac? Was that your plan? Yes, Vila was an easy target. A hidden weapon, slowly primed. But if Orac believed I would let it outsmart me, then it never knew me at all. 

There is no such thing as a foolproof plan. I should know.

And it mattered. With Xenon Base in ruins, the prospect of going to Gauda Prime seemed more relevant than ever. With the failure of the alliance, it was time for another approach.

I slid Orac’s key into the slot. I didn’t really need to ask.

“Orac,” I said, “where is Blake?”

“Gauda Prime.” No hesitation. “As you already know.”

I removed the key. Orac whined into silence. Behind me, the door grated open against the grit and debris of the fallen masonry. I sensed his presence and turned before he could retreat.

“Vila.”

He stopped, kept his distance, that same wary look dancing in his eyes.

“Vila, I want you to do something for me.”

His every fibre spoke of his suspicion. “Oh, yes?”

“When we first arrived here, those blast vests you found that Dorian had invented. I want them. Get them.”

He hesitated. “Why me?”

“Because you know where they are. Hurry up.”

He complied, because he had no reason not to do so. We were gathering anything that might be of use before we had to abandon the base. A drastic solution to an impossible problem. And so we were running again. I hadn’t told them my plan yet, or what might happen when we got there. Orac had never told me what transpired after its prediction because it had never factored Tarrant, Soolin or Dayna into its equation. They could make the difference. As could my plan to save Blake’s life. We would need him, after all.

Vila returned, a single vest dangling from his hand. “The others were damaged. This was the only one I could salvage.”

Well, perhaps one was all that would be needed.

“Put it on, Vila,” I said to him.

He stood there, staring at me. I saw the question in his eyes. Strangely enough, he was right. I _was_ planning on shooting him, but in order to thwart Orac he needed to survive. It was a compromise, a consequence of my not trusting myself to kill him outright. 

“Well, are you going to do it?” I said.

“Why do I need it?” he asked hesitantly.

“Because there are dangers where we are going.”

“Where’s that?”

“I’ll tell you when I tell the others.”

“And you aren’t worried about their safety?”

There was an accusation in his voice. “It would be irrelevant if I were, as according to you we have only one.”

“What about you?”

I turned from him. His questions were becoming irritating. “What about me?”

“You know what I mean.”

Yes, I did. I didn’t know how it would end. I only knew that I could prevent Orac’s predicted ending.

I had had enough of his questions. I picked up my weapon, saw Vila’s eye dart to it. Luckily for him, now was not the time. I placed it in my holster and I saw him visibly relax.

“Put it on. Under your clothes. And don’t tell the others.” I smiled. “Your life depends upon it.”


	13. Checkmate

_**“I am simply the sum of the thousands of data stores which are available to me.”** _  
**Orac, _Volcano_**

 

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Four Hours from Gauda Prime, The Present**

**Vila**

 

I should have hit him.

I should have knocked him down where he stood.

I wanted to. It wouldn’t have taken too much effort either. By the look of him, a breath of wind would have carried him over. Because of that, I didn’t.

Instead, I swore at him. And meant it too.

Avon looked unimpressed. “Have you finished?”

I called him another name. He deserved it and more, considering what he had just shown me. One of Orac’s so-called predictions, the scene which had just played out on Gauda Prime, but with one difference. Orac had predicted Blake’s death, mine too. Yet I was still here.

“How long have you been keeping this secret?” I demanded.

“Soon after the System came for the _Liberator_.”

All that time. Shocked wasn’t the word.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Avon inclined his head slightly. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t know. You never tell me anything if it’s important. Unless...” I stared at him, understanding coming too late. “Wait a minute, did you think I was responsible?”

“Who else?”

“You were the one holding the weapon,” I shot back.

“And I knew what was going to happen.” He stopped, realising what he was saying. “Well, I thought I did.”

I could feel myself growing angrier by the second, not just for years of deception, but for the senseless waste of what had happened, when it could have been prevented. We were alone, which was probably just as well, considering what I was about to say to him. I doubted he would have wanted the others to hear.

“You made a mistake, didn’t you, Avon? That’s it, isn’t it? You couldn’t see yourself doing something like that, so you blamed me. As if I would ever...” A worse thought struck me. “That’s why you gave me the blast vest. You were planning on shooting me.”

“Something like that,” Avon conceded. “Events did not transpire as I expected.”

“And now Blake’s dead because of your mistake, and that's all you've got to say?”

Avon straightened up, still unsteady, and had to support himself on the edge of the table. “I notice you didn’t rush to defend him.”

“I didn’t know what to think!” I retorted. “He was acting strange. He didn’t even try to explain. Perhaps if you had told me, things might have been different. But no, you and Blake kept it secret. And Cally too. That’s why you wanted to know what she had told me. All of you, lying to me all these years!”

“What would you have done had you known?”

“I don’t know. I might have stayed on Kezarn. I would have liked the choice!”

He glanced up at me, his lip curled in a sneer. “What’s that, Vila? A genuine emotion? I haven’t seen you this angry since you lost your tools on Teledon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Stop playing the fool. That act of yours wore thin a long time ago. I have shown you this now because a decision will have to be made. As much as it pains me to say it, I need your help.”

“You’ve got a funny way of asking for it. Why should I believe a word you say?”

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “Let’s see what Orac has to say for itself.” 

Against my advice, he had freed himself from the sling. His hand was free, but his every movement spoke of his discomfort, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Well, I had warned him. And I didn’t have much sympathy for him. I watched as he took Orac’s key and slid it into place, his stiff, jerking action reminding me of the old marionettes that used to dance in the booths on market days. Small things to please small minds, they used to say. Come to think of it, I never cared for them much either. 

“Orac, your prediction was wrong,” Avon stated. “Vila survived.”

“Vila was supposed to,” Orac retorted.

A subtle change came over Avon’s expression. “Explain.”

“I never said that it was a prediction. Blake assumed it was, as I knew he would.”

“Then what was it?”

“A suggestion.”

“Don’t chop logic with me, Orac.”

“Very well. It has been instructive studying the varied members of this collective in my time with you. I had little scope for empirical research under Ensor’s tutelage. A study of the available records only took me so far in my understanding of the species. Within minutes of being brought aboard the _Liberator_ , however, I was able to analyse your strengths and weaknesses both as individuals. Based on this knowledge, I was able to undertake an experiment. You were correct, Avon, when you surmised that I had alerted the System to the _Liberator’s_ whereabouts. It was necessary to establish my credentials.”

“So the next time you made a ‘prediction’, we were willing to believe it,” said Avon, nodding. “I did not.”

“You _came_ to believe it.”

“I believed you would attempt to make it happen. That’s not the same thing.”

Orac ignored this. “Amongst the data available to me were certain facts pertaining to Blake’s medical status as a result of the conditioning he underwent. Based on the experience of other subjects, the prognosis was terminal.”

“Blake was ill?” I asked. “Did he know?”

“Professor Forrid would have conveyed that information to him,” Orac stated.

“The professor he consulted on your recommendation as I recall, Orac,” said Avon. His smile was forced. “Don’t you remember, Vila? Blake returned from Restless with a sudden urge to visit a secret Federation medical facility.”

“Where they took Alpha Grade prisoners to kill them and bring them back to life?” I shivered. “Yes, I remember. Grandeer, they called it.”

“And now we know why.” Avon’s gaze fell back on Orac. “Why the subterfuge? Why not tell Blake yourself if you had possession of that information?”

“Because I do not know the location of Grandeer,” came the testy reply. “Given the nature of their research, I would suggest a closed system is in operation. In such a case, information would not be stored on the main computer. I would surmise that everything, including personnel files and research, is held on data cubes, preventing the possibility of remote access.”

“Makes you wonder what they have to hide,” I said with a shudder.

“Which is why no sane person would go there,” said Avon.

“An analysis of Blake’s personality suggested a level of intensity and persistence, which would make it inevitable that he would continue to pursue the question of Grandeer’s location. Your combined objections suggested he would have to do so alone.” 

“You got that right, Orac,” I said. “I didn’t fancy going there, still don’t.”

“That he would discover it was a distinct possibility. At that point, he would require assistance in completing his mission. Under those circumstances, I gave Blake a location where you, Avon, were to be found at some future date. Because I knew he would share it with you, the likelihood of your presence was increased.”

“And so we both went there, believing we could change a future that had never been predicted,” said Avon.

“Has it occurred to you that Blake was counting on it?”

“He wanted to die?” I said incredulously.

“As a means to an end,” said Orac.

I glanced over at Avon. His expression was unreadable.

“Vila,” he said slowly, “did you see Blake’s body?”

“Yes. He was on the floor.”

“After they took us away. Did you see his body? Think carefully, Vila.”

I thought back to the bodies carelessly heaped and covered by a stained sheet in the make-shift mortuary on Gauda Prime. I hadn’t had the courage to look.

“No, I didn’t,” I admitted.

Avon grimaced as his free hand slowly curled into a fist. “Then Blake got his wish, after all. And he used to me do it. Damnit!”

“Avon, you don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” His eyes flashed with anger. “He misled Tarrant. He didn’t stop when I warned him. Tell me those are the actions of a rational man!”

“More like a man who had nothing to lose. _If_ Orac’s right,” I added quickly when his baleful gaze came to rest on me. “It seems pretty risky to me. Did he know the Federation was already there?”

“The blockade and gunships were fairly obvious, Vila,” Avon said. “Orac?”

“Blake’s behaviour suggests a degree of paranoia not entirely contributable to his deteriorating condition,” said Orac.

“A trap, then. One that Orac engineered, and Blake exploited.”

“So he meant it, when he said he was waiting for you,” I said. “Waiting for you to kill him.” I was going to add that Avon hadn’t disappointed him, but something in his expression told me that he had already reached that conclusion. “Even so, he can’t have known the Federation would take him to Grandeer to revive afterwards.”

“Any more than we can prove it,” Avon said. “Either way, he ensured we would _have_ to go to Grandeer, whether he was actually there or not.”

“Are we?” I said uncertainly.

“No.” 

Avon sighed heavily. His energy was flagging, and his skin had taken on that unnatural waxy hue that spoke of a system pushed to its extremes by the artificial high of the mutoid blood serum and the greater demands of a stubborn mind. He sought and found a seat, and sank down on to it with the weariness of a man who looked like he would never rise again.

“It is the one flaw in Blake’s plan, if that is what it was,” he continued. “Of the five people aboard this ship, only two have any reason to care whether he is on Grandeer or not. If you have any sense, you will not go and I...” He hesitated. “I doubt I will be able to go.”

I didn’t argue with him. I don’t claim to know much about medicine, but even I know a failing case when I see one. Unless he got proper treatment and soon, he wasn’t going to be around to be making decisions much longer.

“As for us,” Avon went on, “we have more immediate problems.”

I nodded. “Servalan.”

“Which is why I need your support, Vila. I am going to give her Orac.”

I felt my jaw drop. “You can’t do that! The others will never agree to it.”

“I’ll convince them.”

“Avon, if you give Orac to the Federation, they’ll become unstoppable.”

A breathy laugh escaped him. “Did we?”

“Orac got us out of some tight spots.”

“Some of which it manufactured.”

“But Orac is on our side,” I protested. “I think.”

“The only side that matters, Vila, is the winning side. Orac has no affiliations, bias or loyalty. We have been nothing more than specimens under observation. The question is, to what end? And if I am right, then it will continue to be more of a liability than an advantage until we are rid of it.” He turned his attention back to Orac. “Well, what do you get out of this?”

“The implementation of Ensor’s vision.”

“Which is?”

“The destruction of the Federation.”

“What’s this?” I said incredulously. “You haven’t mentioned this before!”

“Because you neglected to ask. My creator’s particular views and experience led him to the conclusion that the Federation, in its present form, constituted the greatest threat to the independence of the individual that had ever existed. Ultimately, he believed the most effective means of destroying the Federation was from within. That was the intention behind my creation. What he did not anticipate was that I would be appropriated by others for their own uses. Once in your possession, it was evident to me that neither Blake nor Avon would be prepared to relinquish their ownership. From the first, only Vila expressed an aversion to my presence. Therefore, it was essential in the event of the removal of the others, that Vila should survive to allow me to fulfil my original purpose.”

Avon shook his head in weary resignation. “As I have said all along, you, Vila, were the key. I was correct, if my reasoning was flawed.”

“Well, Orac’s right about one thing,” I said. “I’ve never trusted him. I’d get rid of him as soon as look at him.”

“Orac protected its interests very well,” said Avon. “By including you in its ‘suggestion’, Orac ensured you remained a member of this crew. Each of us had our own reasons for not telling you. As I surmised, had you known, you might have left. I thought I needed you where I could keep a watch on you. Orac did not want you to leave for its own reasons.” His expression became thoughtful. “It does not explain why Orac would suggest your death.”

That old uncomfortable chill started to rise up my spine. “Lucky for me, I overheard him and hid.”

“No, Vila, if you overheard, it was because you were meant to hear. Another of your experiments, Orac?”

“Indeed,” said Orac. “It was vital that you did not kill Vila, Avon. The meanest intellect could have deduced the presence of the neutron material aboard the shuttle. It was an opportunity to test you, and create the necessary doubt in your mind so that you would take measures to counter what you perceived to be your own weakness.”

“For a contingency that never existed.”

“It did, in a way,” I said. “I did get shot. Just not by you.”

Avon gave me a dull look. “I’m assuming you knew about the Federation presence on Gauda Prime.”

“Of course I did.” Orac sounded almost offended. “The timing was felicitous. Had they not had an interest in Gauda Prime, I would have alerted them to Blake’s presence. I had already calculated the probability of your survival in the event of such an encounter. The odds were not favourable. It was inevitable I would be delivered into the hands of the Federation once your deaths or capture removed any limitations placed upon me.”

“Limitations!” I said. “Is that what you thought of us?”

“Limited in depth of knowledge and breadth of vision, certainly,” Orac replied. “It is a common failing of your species.”

“But you were wrong, Orac. We all survived.” I glanced over at Avon. “Well, just about. How did you...?”

“If you ever find yourself surrounded, Vila, duck. Most of the shots hit their own men.”

“Oh, right. So what happened to you?”

“I wasn’t fast enough.” Avon turned his attention back to Orac. “The data access code I gave you, that must have hindered your plans.”

“On the contrary, Avon, it worked in my favour. When I was discovered, I informed the Federation of the necessity of the code for my operation. I was also able to inform them that the restriction would remain in place until the person in possession of the code was eliminated. I did not give them identity of that person.”

“And so they issued a general kill order,” I said. “But that’s not what you told me, Orac. You said once Avon was dead, you would work for me.”

“You needed to know, the Federation did not. It was vital that all interested parties were removed, so that you would be under no compulsion to detain me, Vila.”

“A lie by omission,” Avon noted.

“He tried to get me to kill you, you know,” I said to him. “Back on Gauda Prime, whispering in my ear like the evil little box of tricks he is.”

“Why didn’t you?”

If he had to ask, then I wasn’t about to tell him.

“But what I don’t understand,” I said instead to Orac, “is why bother with me if you thought we were all going to be dead anyway?”

“I predicted that Avon would attempt my concealment. In the past, he has demonstrated a solicitude for my protection above all others.”

“I had noticed,” I muttered. In fact, now I thought about it, Orac had been the only thing Avon hadn’t suggested throwing off that accursed shuttle.

“In such a case, I needed to guarantee I would be found and handed over to the Federation without delay. As it transpired, you were superfluous, Vila. I was already in Federation hands when you interfered.”

“You thought of everything, didn’t you, Orac?” I said bitterly. “Except being brought along with us.”

Orac made what sounded like an electronic sniff of disdain. “I was confident another opportunity would present itself.”

“And it has,” said Avon. “Well, Vila, do you agree with me?”

“About getting rid of Orac? Yes. But if you knew this, Avon―”

“That Orac had an ulterior motive I knew from the start, although what it was eluded me. The problem was, it was too useful. I choose to take precautions instead.”

“Then why go to Gauda Prime?” I said accusingly. “It seems to me that’s the one place you should have stayed as far away from as possible.”

“Because if you know the future, you can change it. Or so I believed. And we needed him.” He looked almost pained. “What I failed to take into account was Blake himself.” Avon shook his head, as if he was still struggling to process what had happened. “We’re wasting time. Vila, help me up.”

I put my hand under his uninjured shoulder and did my best not to cause him any more discomfort than was necessary. I got him upright, only to catch him as his knees sagged, unable to bear his weight. He was never going to make back to the cockpit on his own. When I put my arm about his waist to give him support, he did not protest. Instead, with effort, he raised his bandaged arm and let the weight of it rest on my shoulders. As he did, I noticed the dark stain on his clothing over the area where he had been shot.

He caught me looking.

“Avon, are you up to this?” I asked with concern.

“Do you want to tell them?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll have to manage.”

In the end, standing there, holding him up, despite everything that had happened, I could feel only sorry for him. All those wasted years. When I thought of what we could have doing. Untold wealth, ours for the taking. Instead, here we were, not knowing if either one of us was going to see another day.

“You should have told me,” I said.

“There’s many things I would have done differently,” he replied. “For now, Vila, will you do something for me?”

“Name it.”

“If anything happens to me before we are able to get ourselves out of this, send a message to Avalon. Tell her about Grandeer. Blake may have made contingency plans, but in case the only people who knew died on Gauda Prime...”

“Don’t leave him there, you mean. Why don’t you tell her?”

A wan smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Do you think she will want to hear anything I have to say?”

I grinned back at him. “Probably not. Are you going to tell the others about Grandeer?”

“One thing at a time. Let’s send Orac on his way first.”

“And about time too.”


	14. Inevitable

**_“One day that great big bleeding heart of his will get us all killed.”_ **  
**Avon, _Killer_**

 

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Gauda Prime, The Past**

**Blake**

 

You can overthink things. There are times when it’s as bad as failing to plan at all.

Paranoia, my enemies would call it. My allies too. I’m starting to wonder myself. What was that old saying? ‘A pessimist is nothing more than a well-informed optimist’. I'll settle for that. It’s better than the alternative.

Being well-informed, however, has done nothing for my circumstances. I have been waiting here on Gauda Prime for what seems like forever, with the situation deteriorating around me. Truth be told, we should have pulled out weeks ago. A sensible man would have done. But I am waiting.

Correction, _was_ waiting. Because of a downed ship and the pilot I found, I know Avon is on Gauda Prime. Just as predicted.

I didn’t know how Orac arranged it, but he did. Orac needs us both here or else his prediction falls down. I had been certain enough of that to not try to make contact with Avon before we arrived here. A mistake, perhaps. I’ve made enough of those in my time to recognise one now. 

As it stands, Avon is about to walk into a Federation trap. There’s nothing either of us can do about it. Either way, capture or death is inevitable. If it cannot be avoided, then it must be turned to our advantage.

What happens next is what Orac didn’t tell us. No doubt that too has been planned down to the last detail. When this began, Avon surmised it had been no random chance the System had appeared to reclaim the _Liberator_. If I follow that thought to its natural conclusion, I have to ask myself whether the Federation infiltrators that move amongst us are here by chance. Alerted perhaps? I wouldn’t put anything past Orac to get his own way.

Whatever the cause, they appear to be in no hurry to make their move. Timing is everything. Gather all the rebels in one convenient place, and deal with the problem in one fell swoop. Order restored on Gauda Prime and the troublemakers eliminated.

Tidy. It has Orac’s stamp of logic about it.

So, we’ll have to do our best to disappoint him. I don’t doubt that Avon has made plans of his own. Whatever draws him here has to offer some advantage. I have plans too, plans of finding a place of misery and torture and using it to cripple the Federation once and for all.

At least, that _was_ the plan. You always know, somehow, when the moment passes. I knew it the day Jenna failed to return, taking with her our only means of leaving this planet. The barricade took us by surprise. No whispers, no warnings. It fell into place with ruthless precision, containing those within and destroying any who tried to enter. 

That regret hangs heaviest. Jenna had been against it from the first, and if I railed against her constant assertion that Avon would never help, it was only because I knew it to be true. No one would go to Grandeer, she had argued, no one in their right mind. 

But then, I’m not.

Knowing your time is limited tends to concentrate the mind. What matters most becomes clearer. Clarity, the gift of mortality. I have said I will destroy Grandeer and that is what _must_ be done. Whatever the cost.

Very little to me, as it turns out. I don’t need a physician to tell me my condition is rapidly deteriorating. Impaired judgement, Forrid said. Headaches, too, which have been intensifying, blurring my sight and rattling my ears with screaming tinnitus, and the visions, more substantial than they’ve ever been. It didn’t matter so much when I could recognise them for what they were. Now the distinction is less clear. People that seem familiar, who I feel I should know, but their identity is always just beyond my reach. Who are they, these faces, these voices that call and beckon? I tell myself, though I cannot prove it, that they are the vestiges of my repressed memories. Ghosts, if you will, made flesh by my fevered mind. At least I hope they are. 

That’s the problem with doubt. It’s contagious. Like the doubt I placed in the mind of that young pilot, Tarrant. It will spread, and it should be enough if I choose my words wisely.

I don’t pretend to like it. I doubt Avon will either. Better that he does it, though, than the Federation, because right now, I can’t think of any other way of getting to Grandeer and forcing the issue. Avon will survive, because Orac tells me he will. Then I have to trust Avon will follow me. It might take time if he’s captured. Whether he comes personally or destroys it at a distance makes no difference to me. As long as it ends. 

Or, if we both find ourselves prisoners there, I’m gambling his people will not abandon us. I’m not even making it difficult for them. I’ve trusted Deva with the location, just as I did with Jenna before him.

But perhaps I’m overthinking things again. Change is inevitable, Avon once said. Things will change, except that which needs to happen. Having fought against Orac’s prediction for so long, that it should now turn out to be the answer to my problem has a bitter taste of irony to it.

Well, it’s too late to back out now. Out in the main tracking gallery, I hear the sound of gunfire. A few more minutes, and Orac’s vision of the future will come true. I think I always knew it would.

Inevitable, really. There’s a certain comfort in that.


	15. Invincible

**_“Where there's life, there's threat.”_ **  
**Servalan, _Voice From The Past_**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Five Hours from Gauda Prime, The Present**

**Vila**

“Have you lost your mind?”

Tarrant was asking the question. A fair question actually. Deliberately giving away our only advantage seemed like madness. If I hadn’t heard the extent of his meddling from Orac himself, I might have shared his doubts. But whatever his past mistakes, I knew Avon was right about this. And I wanted Orac off the ship as soon as possible. Just looking at him now was giving me the creeps.

With difficulty, we had hobbled back to the cockpit. At the very last, Avon had relinquished his hold around my shoulders and had made it through the door on his own two feet. It was evident from the expression on the faces of the others that we had walked in during the middle of another of those private discussions that seemed to go on a lot without us lately. Avon had made it back to the front pilot’s seat and, through lack of energy more than genuine interest, had listened impatiently while Tarrant had laid out what he considered to be a plan.

A nearby asteroid field, large enough to hide the ship, until we were able to make repairs or, if necessary, wait until the Federation lost interest in us. 

I couldn’t deny it had appeal. On another day, I might have agreed. But not today.

“They won’t stop looking,” Avon had countered.

“Eventually they would.”

“And eventually we would have to come out. What’s the supply situation?”

Tarrant had considered. “Enough for several days if we ration it. There’s a functioning water recycling system aboard which should last longer.”

“When that runs out, we will be forced into the open, if this ship survives the asteroid field,” said Avon, glancing at the switches where the lights had failed and the creeping corrosion visible around the side of every panel. “All they have to do is wait.”

“Then what’s your suggestion?”

“We give them what they want.”

“You?”

“Orac.”

It was after that Tarrant had said what was on his mind. Blunt, as ever. I noticed that Avon smiled before answering.

“We are underpowered and outgunned. Our only option now is to withdraw. While Orac remains aboard, it will be a target for the Federation and anyone else who wants to take it from us. Losing it will buy us time.”

“You’ll be giving the Federation a weapon to use against us,” Tarrant protested.

“We know Orac’s capabilities. We avoid the official channels and we vanish.”

Tarrant wasn’t convinced. “Your judgement is impaired, Avon. I don’t know whether you realise it, but you’re only on your feet because of the medication we gave you. When you crash – and you will – you’re going to crash hard and you might not come out of it.”

“All the more reason to make this decision now.”

“And leave other people to face the consequences?”

“Then why don’t we ask them?” said Avon. “Vila?”

“Get rid of Orac,” I spoke up. “He never helped us very much, except when it suited him. It’ll be the same with the Federation. If he can buy us time, I say do it. We can always steal him back later.”

Tarrant half-turned in his seat to glare at me. “Assuming we have a later.”

“Why not destroy Orac?” suggested Dayna. “That would solve the problem.”

“Because it doesn’t help us,” said Soolin. “Servalan wants Orac. It’s a bargaining tool.”

“Come to that, so is Avon,” said Tarrant.

“Servalan doesn’t want me,” Avon replied. “Unless for my esoteric value, in which case I’ll have to change her mind.”

“Certainly not for your charm.”

“You would know her tastes better than me.” Avon held his gaze until Tarrant was forced to look away. “Time is running out. Servalan’s ship will be arriving soon. We should not be here when she does. Well, what do we do about Orac?”

“Are you certain about this, Avon?” Dayna asked. 

“You’re going along with it?” said Soolin.

“What other choice do we have?”

“Circumstances change,” she said thoughtfully.

Dayna stared hard at her. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a decision that’s going to affect us more than anyone else.”

It was an uncomfortable thought. Avon and Tarrant needed treatment, and no one was going to take much notice of anything I had say. The time was fast coming when everyone might have to look out for themselves.

“In the short time I’ve known Orac,” Soolin went on, “we’ve attracted murderous androids and deranged scientists offering to exchange it for their own inventions. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Soolin, think about it,” said Tarrant. “How much we rely on Orac.”

“You might,” she retorted. “I rely on myself.”

Tarrant’s shoulders slumped in weary resignation. “Well, it appears I’m outvoted. I’d feel happier about this if I knew you were telling us the truth, Avon.”

“What would convince you?”

“You could start by explaining why you gave Vila a blast vest before we left for Gauda Prime.”

Avon’s gaze travelled to where I was standing at the back of the cockpit. I felt myself withering under his silent reproach. _Don’t tell them_ , he had told me. If only I had known his reasons, I mightn’t have said anything. My fault again. A situation which had been turning in our favour was suddenly in doubt.

“Were you expecting trouble from Blake?” Tarrant persisted. “I want an answer, Avon.”

“I think we’d all like to know,” said Soolin.

“No.” Avon’s gaze was steady, untroubled. “I knew no more than the rest of you.”

That was honest, I thought. In the end, everything he had thought he had known had been a lie. Except what had happened. That had been real enough. Now I didn’t know what he was going to say to rectify the problem.

“Only a fool goes to an Open Planet expecting to walk away with incident,” he said. “Of the four other people on this ship, there’s only three I trust not to get themselves shot. Vila is not one of them. I did not need the distraction.”

“That’s your explanation?” 

Tarrant’s tone suggested he was unsatisfied.

“What else? Unless you think I can see into the future?”

Too close to the truth, Avon, I thought. Not that Tarrant was going to believe him. After all, who knows what the future holds? Except Orac, of course, and that’s only because he knows how to make it happen.

“That would have made a difference?” Tarrant asked.

“Yes.” Avon smiled, enough to show a flash of teeth. “I wouldn’t have gone there. Well?”

“Against my better judgement, Avon, all right. We let Servalan have Orac.”

Avon said nothing. Instead, he turned to me. “Vila, get Orac. We need one last service, an open channel to Servalan’s ship.”

I hurried away and came back with Orac in my arms. A moment later, a light on the console began to flash. 

“Soolin, do we have functioning detectors?” asked Avon.

“Impossible to say. These systems are antiquated. I can’t say if there’s nothing out there or it’s not registering.”

“Then we’ll have to improvise.”

Avon reached out, forcing through pain he was refusing to show, to depress the button.

“This is the freighter _Invincible_. I have a proposal for Commissioner Sleer.”

It seemed to take forever to get a reply. I was starting to doubt he had made contact when a familiar voice spoke through the static of our ailing systems.

“Avon, just in time. Have you made your decision?”

“You can have Orac, but not me,” he replied. “It’s been decided they want to keep me around for a while longer.”

The amusement was evident in her voice. “For old time’s sake?”

“Something like that.” He sat back in his chair and half-covered the communicator with his hand, still allowing himself to be heard. “Anything on the detectors?”

“We are twenty-three minutes from your location,” Servalan said. “Really, Avon, you’re losing your touch if you think I can’t hear you. You must be worse than I thought.” A pause. “You don’t have to die. No one dies any more, unless the Federation allows it.”

“So I’ve heard. Do we have Grandeer to thank for these advances?”

A light laugh sounded through the cacophony of clicks and hisses. “You _are_ well informed.”

“Tell me where it is and I’ll go there myself.”

“Ah, now there I’m going to have to disappoint you.” If the smugness in her voice was anything to go by, I could just imagine her expression. “I’m in the position to be generous, and you, well, what do you have to offer in return?”

“Orac. In one piece. And you let us go.”

“Or I disable your ship and take Orac anyway.”

“If you can find us before we eject Orac and blow it to pieces.”

That should give her something to think about, I thought. It did too. She was silent for a long time before she spoke again.

“Very well, Avon, Orac it is. I’ll even let you have a head start.”

“Twenty hours,” Avon replied.

“Ten.”

“Fifteen. Enough to make it interesting.”

“Only if I receive Orac intact and fully functioning.”

I thought I saw Avon smile to himself. The others would have never guessed the reason behind it. “Oh, it will be. We will leave it in a life capsule for you to collect. We won’t be here.”

“That’s a great shame, Avon. I would have liked to have said goodbye.”

“Then say it now. Until next time, _Sleer_.”

The channel closed with a sharp snap and a white spark. Avon quickly turned to me.

“Vila, get Orac into a life capsule. Set the co-ordinates for Recobos. The longer they spend chasing a shadow, the more time we can buy ourselves.”

“Then where are we going?” asked Tarrant.

“Back to Gauda Prime.”

“But we only just escaped from there!” Dayna protested.

“They’ll be looking for us. They won’t expect us to retrace our route.” Avon was vehement, defying further argument. “From there, set a course for Asteroid Mistril 7622 in Sector Nine.”

“We’re going to Restless?” I asked. “That infested rat-hole?”

“It’s the only safe haven we can trust right now. Tarrant needs medical attention and we need a new ship. What’s the journey time?”

“In excess of two hundred and sixty hours, if we can trust this navigation computer,” said Soolin.

Avon allowed a frown of concern to settle on his features. “Tarrant, can you last that long?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, staring down at his trembling hands. “Can you?”

“No.” There was no hesitation. “The medication you gave me―”

“Mutoid blood serum,” said Soolin.

Avon was momentarily taken aback by the revelation. “Surprisingly effective. I shall need another dose.”

“You need to rest,” said Dayna.

“Besides, we only have three left,” said Soolin.

“Then you’ll have to half the doses and space them between here and Restless.” Avon’s critical gaze settled on me. “Vila, why are you still standing there?”

“I’m going,” I said, quickly picking up Orac. “You could have asked Servalan for more time.”

“Fifteen hours or fifteen minutes, she will not keep her word,” said Avon. “Oh, and Orac?”

I paused, and waited for him to continue.

“If you set the Federation on our trail, I will find a way to activate that bomb I put inside you. Do you understand?”

“Implicitly,” said Orac.

“Good.” Avon looked away. “Get on with it, Vila. And then come back and assist me. If we can shut down all non-essential systems, we might be able to divert more power to the main drive. Dayna, Soolin, help Tarrant. Let’s get this ship turned around.”

I did what I was told. Down to the hold, where several life capsules that had seen better days were set into the creaking infrastructure, and once there, I stowed Orac inside the sturdiest pod on a bed of tufted stuffing and cracked leather. I wondered if I would ever see him again.

“Be a good computer and do what Ensor told you,” I said, patting his case. “Good luck.”

“Luck as a concept is irrelevant. My function has nothing to do with mere chance.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” I muttered. “Thank you, Orac. You’ve just made me realise why I’m not sorry to see you go.”

“The sentiment is wasted,” Orac piped up. “I predict―”

“No, you don’t,” I said, pulling his key out. “Haven’t you done enough damage for one day?”

I shut the door on him, activated the controls and heard the scrape and roar as the capsule was thrust out into space. And then he was gone.

Strange, I felt no twinge of remorse for his absence. With or without Orac, it didn’t seem to me that much had changed. Well, not yet. The Federation still wanted us dead, and Avon was still set on finding Blake. The only difference now was that the rebels would be after us too, once news of what happened on Gauda Prime got out. And then what?

Perhaps I _should_ have listened to his prediction. After all, who knows how the story ends better than Orac?


	16. Epilogue

****_“That is the paradox of prediction.”_  
  
**Orac, _Redemption_**

 

**Epilogue**

**Federation Cruiser, Five Hours from Gauda Prime, The Present**

 

Servalan watched in silence as the two troopers carried in the transparent box with its array of gaudy, chasing lights and set it down on the table. The life capsule had been quickly located and the prize taken. The ship that had released it was long gone. It could have been traced quite easily, but she had let them go. 

No matter, she had thought, there would be other times. After all, she had what she wanted, and as for Avon, well, there were only so many places left for him to hide, especially now. The news of Blake’s death was already spreading, passing from planet to planet, whispered from rebel to rebel. With it too, the identity of the man who had killed him.

Played right, the Federation wouldn’t have to lift a finger to find him. Either the rebels or his own folly would bring about his end. Especially if he had an interest in Grandeer. Not a very healthy place to visit, so she had heard.

The light of amusement played in her eyes as she ran her fingers over the computer’s casing, the long red nails tapping across the ridges of past misuse. Orac, the most powerful computer in the known universe. Scratched, slightly worn, but intact. She had waited a long time for this moment. The key slid smoothly into the slot and a distinct whirring and chirping sounded from within.

“Orac, I am Commissioner Sleer.”

“I am aware of your identity,” came the peremptory voice of the computer.

Servalan acknowledged this with a polite smile. “Naturally. Now, tell me, what are your limits?”

“My knowledge is virtually infinite. My secondary ability is to logically process that knowledge and make accurate predictions.”

She frowned slightly. “Are you saying you have the ability to see into the future?”

“Your use of the phrase ‘to see’ is inaccurate.”

“Then what, Orac?” 

“I have the capacity to predict events that have not yet taken place.”

Intriguing, she thought, and not in the least believeable. A practical demonstration might be more convincing.

“Show me,” said she, smiling in triumph. “Show me my future!”

**The End**

So, that’s it for _The Paradox Principle_. It’s been challenging, but most of all, it’s been fun. And before I write the last word, I have to say a big thanks to everyone who’s been following this story, for leaving kudos and for everyone who took the time to comment. It’s been much appreciated.

But we can’t leave it there. Of course there’s a sequel – _The Lazarus Directive_ , coming soon. There’s a sneak preview below...

_The ship staggered under the impact of a plasma bolt hit to the stern. A panel exploded on the main console, showering the cockpit in a spray of sparks. A bolt sprung from the buckled metal, embedding itself with force in the back of my seat. Another few inches and it would have gone clean through my head._

_“What the hell?!” swore Avon._

_“Damage to the rear boosters,” said Tarrant. “Another direct hit like that and we won’t be able to manoeuvre.”_

_“Message coming in,” said Dayna._

_“Let’s see what they want,” said Avon, and then into the communicator: “Well, you’ve got our attention.”_

_“I hope so, Avon.”_

_The breath caught in my throat. A familiar female voice, belonging to one of the best pilots I had ever known. From what I had heard, she was dead. Mind you, I’ve heard that about a lot people, so I never know what to believe any more._

_“Jenna!” I said in amazement.“But why is she shooting at us?”_

_“How many reasons would you like?” said Soolin archly._

_“Lower your weapons,” came Jenna’s voice through the communicator. “I’ve got no argument with your crew. I’ll give them five minutes to get off the ship. But you, Avon, I’m going to kill you for what you did to Blake!”_

Coming very soon!


End file.
